My path is West! My heart before
Bounds o'er the dancing wave;
Yet something's left I must deplore -
A magic wild and grave:
Though Honor live and Romance dwell
By mine own streams and woods,
Yet not in spire and keep so well
Are built such lofty moods.

England, perchance our love were more
If we were matched and met
In battle squadron on the shore,
Or here on ocean set:

How were all other banners furled
If that great duel rose !
For we alone in all the world
Are worthy to be foes.

If we should fail or you should fly, 'T were but a twinned disgrace, For both are bound to bear on high The laurels of one race:

Whenso I come where Griefs convene,
And in my ear their voice is keen,
They know me not, as on I glide,
That with Arch Sorrow I abide.
They haggard are, and drooped of mien,
And round their brows have cypress tied:
Such shows I leave to light Grief's peers,
I shall go softly all my years.

Yea, softly! heart of hearts unknown.
Silence hath speech that passeth moan,
More piercing-keen than breathed cries
To such as heed, made sorrow-wise.
But save this voice without a tone,
That runs before me to the skies,
And rings above thy ringing spheres,
Lord, I go softly all my years!

MOTHER ENGLAND

I

THERE was a rover from a western shore, England! whose eyes the sudden tears did drown,

Beholding the white cliff and sunny down Of thy good realm, beyond the sea's

uproar.

I, for a moment, dreamed that, long before,

I had beheld them thus, when, with the frown

Of sovereignty, the victor's palm and

crown

Thou from the tilting-field of nations bore. Thy prowess and thy glory dazzled first; But when in fields I saw the tender flame

Of primroses, and full-fleeced lambs at play, Meseemed I at thy breast, like these, was nursed;

Then mother- Mother England ! — home I came,

Like one who hath been all too long away!