40

THE REVELLERS.

But thou, though a reckless mien be thine,

And thy cup be crowned with the foaming wine,
By the fitful bursts of thy laughter loud,

By thine eye's quick flash through its troubled cloud,
I know thee! it is but the wakeful fear

Of a haunted bosom that brings thee here!

I know thee! thou fearest the solemn night,

With her piercing stars and her deep wind's might! There's a tone in her voice which thou fain wouldst shun

For it asks what the secret soul hath done!

And thou, there's a dark weight on thine — away —— Back to thy home and pray!

Ring, joyous chords! ring out again!
A swifter still, and a wilder strain!

And bring fresh wreaths! we will banish all
Save the free in heart from our festive hall.
On! through the maze of the fleet dance, on!
But where are the young and the lovely! gone?
Where are the brows with the Red Cross crowned,
And the floating forms with the bright zone bound?
And the waving locks and the flying feet,

That still should be where the mirthful meet?

They are gone, they are fled, they are parted all :
Alas! the forsaken hall!

EXHORTATION TO COURAGE.

4I

EXHORTATION TO COURAGE.

SHAKESPEARE.

BUT wherefore do you droop? why look you sad?
Be great in fact, as you have been in thought;
Let not the world see fear and sad distrust
Govern the motion of a kingly eye;

Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;
Threaten the threatener, and outface the brow
Of bragging horror; so shall inferior eyes,
That borrow their behaviors from the great,
Grow great by your example; and put on
The dauntless spirit of resolution;
Show boldness and aspiring confidence.
What! shall they seek the lion in his den,
And fight him there, and make him tremble there?
O, let it not be said! Forage, and run
To meet displeasure further from the doors,
And grapple with him ere he comes so nigh!

COUNTRY AND PATRIOTISM.

FESTUS.

I LOVE my God, my country, kind and kin;
Nor would I see a dog robbed of his bone.
My country! if a wretch shall e'er arise
Out of thy countless sons, who would curtail
Thy freedom, dim thy glory, — while he lives
May all earth's peoples curse him,- for of all

42

THE OLD HOME.

Hast thou secured the blessing; and if one
Exists, who would not arm for liberty,

Be he, too, cursed while living, and when dead,
Let him be buried downwards, with his face
Looking to hell, and o'er his coward grave
The hare skulk in her form.

THE OLD HOME.

TENNYSON.

WE leave the well-belovéd place
Where first we gazed upon the sky;
The roofs that heard our earliest cry
Will shelter one of stranger race.

We go, but ere we go from home,
As down the garden-walks I move,
Two spirits of a diverse love
Contend for loving masterdom.

One whispers: "Here thy boyhood sung

Long since its matin song, and heard
The low love-language of the bird,

In native hazels tassel-hung."

The other answers: — "Yea, but here
Thy feet have strayed in after hours
With thy lost friend among the bowers,
And this hath made them trebly dear."

NATURE.

These two have striven half the day,
And each prefers his separate claim,
Poor rivals in a losing game,
That will not yield each other way.

I turn to go: my feet are set

To leave the pleasant fields and farms;
They mix in one another's arms
To one pure image of regret.

NATURE.

YOUNG.

43

Look Nature through, 'tis revolution all;
All change; no death. Day follows night;

and night
The dying day; stars rise and set, and rise;
Earth takes th' example. See, the Summer gay,
With her green chaplet and ambrosial flowers,
Droops into pallid Autumn: Winter gray
Horrid with frost, and turbulent with storm,

Blows Autumn and his golden fruits away;

Then melts into the Spring; soft Spring, with breath Favonian, from warm chambers of the south,

Recalls the first. All, to re-flourish,

As in a wheel, all sinks, to reascend

fades ;

Emblems of man, who passes, not expires.

No glance of eye,

No clustering curls of golden hair,

Fair but to die!

One year ago.

what loves, what schemes

Far into life!

What joyous hopes, what high resolves,

What generous strife!

The silent picture on the wall,

The burial stone,

Of all that beauty, life, and joy,

Remain alone!

One year one year

And so much gone!

one little year,

And yet the even flow of life

Moves calmly on.

The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair,

Above that head;

No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray

Says he is dead.