With a benevolent joy—and this, I know,
To the world's eye is only idleness!

And when the clouds pass suddenly away,
And the blue sky is like a newer world,

And the sweet-growing things-forest and flower,
Humble and beautiful alike—are all
Breathing up odours to the very heaven-
Or when the frost has yielded to the sun
In the rich autumn, and the filmy mist
Lies like a silver lining on the sky,
And the clear air exhilarates, and life
Simply, is luxury-and when the hush
Of twilight, like a gentle sleep, steals on
And the birds settle to their nests, and stars
Spring in the upper sky, and there is not
A sound that is not low and musical-
At all these pleasant seasons I go out
With my first impulse guiding me, and take
Wood-path or stream, or slope by hill or vale,
And in my recklessness of heart, stray on.
Glad with the birds, and silent with the leaves,
And happy with the fair and blessed world—

And this, 'tis true, is only idleness!

And I should love to go up to the sky,

And course the heavens, like stars, and float away

Upon the gliding clouds that have no stay
In their swift journey-and 'twould be a joy
To walk the chambers of the deep, and tread
The pearls of its untrodden floor, and know
The tribes of the unfathomable depths-
Dwellers beneath the pressure of a sea!
And I should love to issue with the wind
On a strong errand, and o'ersweep the earth
With its broad continents and islands green,

Like to the passing of a spirit on!—
And this, 'tis true, were only idleness!

THE BURIAL OF THE CHAMPION OF HIS CLASS, AT YALE COLLEGE.

YE'VE gather'd to your place of prayer
With slow and measured tread:

Your ranks are full, your mates all there-
But the soul of one has fled.

He was the proudest in his strength,

The manliest of ye all;

Why lies he at that fearful length,
And ye around his pall?

Ye reckon it in days, since he
Strode up that foot-worn aisle,
With his dark eye flashing gloriously,
And his lip wreathed with a smile.
O, had it been but told you, then,
To mark whose lamp was dim-
From out yon rank of fresh-lipp'd men,
Would ye have singled him?

Whose was the sinewy arm, that flung

Defiance to the ring?

Whose laugh of victory loudest rung

Yet not for glorying?

Whose heart, in generous deed and thought,

No rivalry might brook,

And yet distinction claiming not?
There lies he-go and look!

On now-his requiem is done,
The last deep prayer is said-
On to his burial, comrades-on,

With a friend and brother dead!
Slow-for it presses heavily—
It is a man ye bear!

Slow, for our thoughts dwell wearily

On the gallant sleeper there.

Tread lightly, comrades!-we have laid
His dark locks on his brow-

Like life-save deeper light and shade:
We'll not disturb them now.
Tread lightly-for 'tis beautiful,

That blue-vein'd eyelid's sleep,

Hiding the eye death left so dull

Its slumber we will keep.