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Silvers the horizon wall,
silence dost displace With thy mellow breezy bass Hot midsummer's petted crone, Sweet to me thy drowsy tune, Telling of countless sunny hours, Long days, and solid banks of flowers, Of gulfs of sweetness without bound In Indian wildernesses found, Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure.
Aught unsavoury or unclean
Wiser far than human seer,
Cools sea and land so far and fast,
EACH AND ALL. LITTLE thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown. Of thee, from the hill-top looking down; And the heifer, that lows in the upland farm, Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm ; The sexton tolling the bell at noon Dreams not that great Napoleon Stops his horse, and lifts with delight, Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height; Nor knowest thou what argument Thy life to thy neighbour's creed has lent. All are needed by each one; Nothing is fair or good alone. I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, Singing at dawn on the alder bough. I brought him home in his nest at even ;He sings the song, but it pleases not now; For I did not bring home the river and sky; He sang to my ear ; they sang to my eye. The delicate shells lay on the shore ; The bubbles of the latest wave Fresh pearls to their enamel gave; And the bellowing of the savage sea Greeted their sate escape to me. I wiped away the weeds and foam, And fetched my sea-born treasures home; But the poor, unsightly, noisome things Had left their beauty on the shore, With the sun, and the sand, and the wild uproar. The lover watched his graceful maid As 'mid the virgin train she strayed,
Nor knew her beauty's best attire
Then I said, “I covet Truth;
Knows he who tills this lonely dek,
To reap its scanty corn,
At midnight and at morn?
Beset by pensive hosts.
Pouring as wide a flood
Came with me to the wood.
But they are gone,—the holy ones
Who trod with me this lonely vale, The strong star-bright companions
Are silent, low, and pale.
My good, my noble, in their prime,
Who made this world the feast it was, Who learned with me the lore of time,
Who loved this dwelling-place.
They took this valley for their toy,
They played with it in every mood, A cell for prayer, a hall for joy,
They treated Nature as they would.
They coloured the horizon round,
Stars flamed and faded as they bade, All echoes hearkened for their sound,
They made the woodlands glad or mad.
I touch this flower of silken leaf
Which once our childhood knew, Its soft leaves wound me with a grief
Whose balsam never grew.
Hearken to yon pine-warbler
Singing aloft on the tree; Hearest thou, O traveller !
What he singeth to me?
Not unless God made sharp thine ear
With sorrow such as mine
The heavy dirge divine.
“Go, lonely man," it saith ;
“ They loved thee from their birth ; Their hands were pure, and pure their faith,
There are no such hearts on earth.
“Ye drew one mother's milk,
One chamber held ye all; A very tender history
Did in your childhood fall.
“Ye cannot unlock your heart, The key is gone
with them; The silent organ loudest chants
The master's requiem.”
THE WORLD SOUL.
THANKS to the morning light,
Thanks to each man of courage,
Cities of proud hotels,
The politics are base,