It was a valley filled with sweetest sounds; Down sloping uplands, which some wood sur- And shapes were there, like spirits of the flowers, Sent down to see the summer beauties dress, And feed their fragrant mouths with silver showers; Their eyes peeped out from many a green bowers; The very flowers seemed eager to caress Such living sisters; and the boughs, longleaved, With tinkling rills just heard, but not too Clustered to catch the sighs their pearl-flushed near; bosoms heaved. V. One through her long loose hair was backward peeping, Or throwing, with raised arm, the locks Another high a pile of flowers was heaping, scried, Her coy glance on the bedded greensward keeping; She pulled the flowers to pieces, as she sighed Then blushed, like timid daybreak, when the dawn Such fragrance floated round, such beauty Looks crimson on the night, and then again 's Her back-blown scarf an arched rainbow Some lay like Thetis' nymphs along the made; She skimmed the wavy flowers, as she passed by, shore, With ocean-pearl combing their golden locks, With fair and printless feet, like clouds along And singing to the waves for evermore the sky. VII. One sat alone within a shady nook, With wild-wood songs the lazy hours beguiling; Or looking at her shadow in the brook, Trying to frown-then at the effort smiling; Her laughing eyes mocked every serious look; Sinking, like flowers at eve, beside the rocks, If but a sound above the muffled roar Of the low waves was heard. In little flocks Others went trooping through the wooded alleys, Their kirtles glancing white, like streams in sunny valleys. XI. 'T was as if Love stood at himself reviling, They were such forms as, imaged in the She threw in flowers, and watched them float away; Then at her beauty looked, then sang a sweeter lay. VIII. Others on beds of roses lay reclined, night, Sail in our dreams across the heaven's steep blue, When the closed lid sees visions streaming bright, Too beautiful to meet the naked view The regal flowers athwart their full lips Like faces formed in clouds of silver light. As if they on the self-same stem had Scared by the lovers' wings that streamed in How blithe upon the breezy cliffs At sunny morn I've stood, With heart as bounding as the skiffs That danced along the flood! Or when the western wave grew bright With daylight's parting wing, Have sought that Eden in its light Which dreaming poets sing That Eden where th' immortal brave Dwell in a land serene Whose bowers beyond the shining wave, Ah dream, too full of saddening truth! Are like the hopes I built in youth- For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that; Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, It's coming yet, for a' that-- "CONTEMPLATE ALL THIS WORK." CONTEMPLATE all this work of time, The giant laboring in his youth; The rank is but the guinea's stamp-In What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Wear hodden grey, and a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine- For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that; 1 ou see yon birkie ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that- His riband, star, and a' that; A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that; tracts of fluent heat began, And grew to seeming random forms, The seeming prey of cyclic storms, Till at the last arose the man Who throve and branched from clime to clime Within himself, from more to more; And crowned with attributes of woe Like glories, move his course, and show That life is not an idle ore, But iron dug from central gloom, And heated hot with burning fears, And dipped in baths of hissing tears, And battered with the shocks of doom dmond P Arise and fly mes To shape and use. The reeling faun, the sensual feast! buz Move upward, working out the beast, And let the ape and tiger die! quatrood ox ALFRED TENNYSON. IF THAT WERE TRUE. 703 IS IT COME? Is it come? they said, on the banks of the Nile, Who looked for the world's long-promised day, And saw but the strife of Egypt's toil, With the desert's sand and the granite gray. From the pyramid, temple, and treasured dead, We vainly ask for her wisdom's plan; They tell us of the tyrant's dread Yet there was hope when that day began. The Chaldee came, with his starry lore, And built up Babylon's crown and creed; And bricks were stamped on the Tigris shore With signs which our sages scarce can read. From Ninus' temple, and Nimrod's tower, The rule of the old east's empire spread Unreasoning faith and unquestioned powerBut still, Is it come? the watcher said. The light of the Persian's worshipped flame, The ancient bondage its splendor threw ; And once, on the west a sunrise came, When Greece to her freedom's trust was true; With dreams to the utmost ages dear, The Romans conquered, and revelled too, Till honor, and faith, and power, were gone; And deeper old Europe's darkness grew, As, wave after wave, the Goth came on. The gown was learning, the sword was law; The people served in the oxen's stead; But ever some gleam the watcher saw, And evermore, Is it come? they said. Poet and seer that question caught, Above the din of life's fears and frets; It marched with letters, it toiled with thought, Through schools and creeds which the earth forgets. And statesmen trifle, and priests deceive, And traders barter our world awayYet hearts to that golden promise cleave, And still, at times, Is it come? they say.. The days of the nations bear no trace IF THAT WERE TRUE! 'T is long ago,—we have toiled and traded, Some spake of homes in the greenwood hid den, Where age was fearless and youth was freeWhere none at life's board seemed guests unbidden, But men had years like the forest tree: Some told us of a stainless standard- And not to be stayed by steel or gold. Our hope grew strong as the giant-slayer. Some said to our silent souls, What fear ye? And yet since the fairy time hath perished, Is not for these days of schools and marts. Up, up! for the heavens still circle o'er us; There's wealth to win and there's work to do, There's a sky above, and a grave before us— And, brothers, beyond them all is true! THE WORLD. 'T Is all a great show, FRANCES BROWN. The world that we 're in None can tell when 't was finished, None saw it begin; Men wander and gaze through There are flowers in the meadow, Too many, too many For eye or for ear, The sights that we see, And the sounds that we hear. A weight as of slumber Comes down on the mind; So swift is life's train To its objects we 're blind; I myself am but one In the fleet-gliding show— Like others I walk, But know not where I go. One saint to another I heard say "How long?" I listened, but naught more I heard of his song; |