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1.

STAND still, true poet that you are,

I know you; let me try and draw you.

Some night you 'll fail us.

When afar

You rise, remember one man saw you,
you, and named a star.

Knew

2.

My star, God's glow-worm! Why extend That loving hand of His which leads you, Yet locks you safe from end to end

Of this dark world, unless He needs you Just saves your light to spend?

3.

His clenched Hand shall unclose at last

I know, and let out all the beauty.

My poet holds the future fast,

Accepts the coming ages' duty, Their present for this past.

4.

That day, the earth's feast-master's brow Shall clear, to God the chalice raising; "Others give best at first, but Thou Forever set'st our table praising, Keep'st the good wine till now.”

5.

Meantime, I'll draw you as you stand, With few or none to watch and wonder. a fisher (on the sand

I'll say

By Tyre the Old) his ocean-plunder, A netful, brought to land.

6.

Who has not heard how Tyrian shells
Enclosed the blue, that dye of dyes
Whereof one drop worked miracles,
And coloured like Astarte's eyes
Raw silk the merchant sells ?

7.

And each bystander of them all

Could criticize, and quote tradition ; How depths of blue sublimed some pall,

To get which, pricked a king's ambition; Worth sceptre, crown and ball.

8.

Yet there's the dye, in that rough mesh,
The sea has only just o'er-whispered!
Live whelks, the lip's-beard dripping fresh,
As if they still the water's lisp heard
Through foam the rock-weeds thresh.

9.

Enough to furnish Solomon

Such hangings for his cedar-house, That when gold-robed he took the throne In that abyss of blue, the Spouse Might swear his presence shone

10.

Most like the centre-spike of gold

Which burns deep in the blue-bell's womb,

What time, with ardours manifold,

The bee goes singing to her groom, Drunken and overbold.

11.

Mere conchs! not fit for warp or woof!

Till art comes, comes to pound and squeeze

And clarify, refines to proof

The liquor filtered by degrees,

While the world stands aloof.

12.

And there's the extract, flasked and fine,

And priced, and salable at last!

And Hobbs, Nobbs, Stokes and Nokes combine To paint the future from the past,

Put blue into their line.

Hobbs hints blue,

Nobbs prints blue,

13.

straight he turtle eats.

claret crowns his cup.

Nokes outdares Stokes in azure feats,

Both gorge. Who fished the murex up?

What porridge had John Keats?

THE HERETIC'S TRAGEDY.

A MIDDLE-AGE INTERLUDE.

(In the original) ROSA MUNDI; SEU, FULCITE ME FLORIBUS. A

CONCEIT

SAINT

OF MASTER GYSBRECHT, CANON-REGULAR OF JODOCUS-BY-THE-BAR, YPRES CITY. CANTUQUE, Virgilius. AND HATH OFTEN BEEN SUNG AT HOCK-TIDE GAVISUS ERAM, Jessides.

AND FESTIVALS.

(It would seem to be a glimpse from the burning of Jacques du Bourg-Molay, at Paris, A. D. 1314; as distorted by the refraction from Flemish brain to brain, during the course of a couple of centuries.-R. B.)

1.

PREADMONISHETH THE ABBOT DEODAET.

THE Lord, we look to once for all,

Is the Lord we should look at, all at once:

He knows not to vary, saith St. Paul,

Nor the shadow of turning, for the nonce.

See Him no other than as he is;

Give both the Infinites their due

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