My last thought was at least not vain. Who knows but the world may end to-night? 3. Hush! if you saw some western cloud And moon's and evening-star's at once 4. Then we began to ride. My soul Smoothed itself out, a long-cramped scroll Past hopes already lay behind. What need to strive with a life awry? Had I said that, had I done this, Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, — who can tell? Where had I been now if the worst befell? And here we are riding, she and I. 5. Fail I alone, in words and deeds? We rode; it seemed my spirit flew, As the world rushed by on either side. This present of theirs with the hopeful past 6. What hand and brain went ever paired? We ride and I see her bosom heave. A soldier's doing! what atones? They scratch his name on the Abbey-stones. My riding is better, by their leave. 7. What does it all mean, poet? well, You hold things beautiful the best, And pace them in rhyme so, side by side. 'Tis something, nay 'tis much-but then, Have you yourself what 's best for men? poor, sick, old ere your time Are you Nearer one whit your own sublime Than we who never have turned a rhyme? Sing, riding's a joy! For me, I ride. 8. And you, great sculptor so you gave A score of years to art, her slave, And that's your Venus - whence we turn You acquiesce and shall I repine? "But in music we know how fashions end!" I gave my youth — but we ride, in fine. 9. Who knows what's fit for us? Had fate Proposed bliss here should sublimate My being; had I signed the bond Still one must lead some life beyond, Have a bliss to die with, dim-descried. This foot once planted on the goal, I sink back shuddering from the quest — 10. And yet she has not spoke so long! We, fixed so, ever should so abide? Changed not in kind but in degree, And Heaven just prove that I and she THE PATRIOT. AN OLD STORY. 1. Ir was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad. The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway, The church-spires flamed, such flags they had, A year ago on this very day! 2. The air broke into a mist with bells, The old walls rocked with the crowds and cries. Had I said, "Good folks, mere noise repels But give me your sun from yonder skies!" They had answered, "And afterward, what else?" 3. Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun, To give it my loving friends to keep. Nought man could do, have I left undone, And you see my harvest, what I reap This very day, now a year is run. |