PORTRAITS OF PEOPLE

THE MEN OF OLD

I KNOW not that the men of old
Were better than men now,

Of heart more kind, of hand more bold,
Of more ingenuous brow:

I heed not those who pine for force
A ghost of Time to raise,

As if they thus could check the course
Of these appointed days.

Still it is true, and over-true,

That I delight to close

This book of life self-wise and new,
And let my thoughts repose
On all that humble happiness,
The world has since foregone,—

The daylight of contentedness

That on those faces shone!

With rights, though not too closely scanned,

Enjoyed, as far as known,—

With will by no reverse unmanned,—

With pulse of even tone,

They from to-day and from to-night

Expected nothing more,

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Than yesterday and yesternight

Had proffered them before.

To them was life a simple art

Of duties to be done,

A game where each man took his part,
A race where all must run;

A battle whose great scheme and scope
They little cared to know,
Content, as men at arms, to cope
Each with his fronting foe.

Man now his Virtue's diadem
Puts on and proudly wears,

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Great thoughts, great feelings, came to them, Like instincts, unawares:

Blending their souls' sublimest needs

With tasks of every day,

They went about their gravest deeds,
As noble boys at play.-

And what if Nature's fearful wound
They did not probe and bare,
For that their spirits never swooned
To watch the misery there,—

For that their love but flowed more fast,
Their charities more free,

Not conscious what mere drops they cast
Into the evil sea.

A man's best things are nearest him,

Lie close about his feet;

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It is the distant and the dim

That we are sick to greet;

For flowers that grow our hands beneath
We struggle and aspire,-

Our hearts must die, except they breathe
The air of fresh Desire.

Yet, Brothers, who up Reason's hill

Advance with hopeful cheer,

Oh! loiter not, those heights are chill,
As chill as they are clear;

And still restrain your haughty gaze,

The loftier that ye go,

Remembering distance leaves a haze

1838.

On all that lies below.

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Richard Monckton Milnes, Lord Houghton.

THE LOTOS-EATERS

COURAGE!" he said, and pointed toward the land,

“This mounting wave will roll us shoreward
soon."

In the afternoon they came unto a land
In which it seemed always afternoon.
All round the coast the languid air did swoon,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
Full-faced above the valley stood the moon;
And, like a downward smoke, the slender

stream

Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did

seem.