"REMEMBER, TIME WORKS OFTEN TO SOME FAIR ACCOMPLISHMENT, WHICH WE, IMPATIENT, PURBLIND,

"WHEN WAR-WINDS BLOW, KINGDOMS BREAK UP LIKE CLOUDS."-SMITH.

CANNOT SEE, AND IN OUR EAGERNESS STRETCH FORTH A HAND, AND THAT ONE ACT MARS ALL."-SMITH.

"WHY SEARCH FOR ILLS THAT WANDER O'ER THE WILDS OF PHANTASY,-(ALEXANDER SMITH)

PASSION IS A SUBSTANCE VAPOROUS (ALEXANDER SMITH)

A SPRING CHANSON.

The ivies have clomb o'er the cottage rafter:
The gummy buds of the chestnut glitter :

On the southern wall I mark a titter
Of bloom-in a month, or so, hereafter

"Twill be all covered o'er with a blossoming
laughter,

And the ground beneath an exquisite litter
Of shed pink and white—and I know who

Will then sit in the noon, the patientest knitter,
(My dearest, my dearest, who is it but you !)
Sunshine-kissed, blossom-powdered; and, while
the wind blows

Warm and warmer, around her the hyacinth swells
To break into clusters of coralline bells,

Princess rose-bud, green-hooded, to open to rose.

In the Spring-time's lovely thronging
Lurk a sacred thirst and longing.
Every deep earth-hidden root
Yearns to turn to flower and fruit;
Every hen-bird east and west
Pines for eggs beneath her breast;
On all harmless creeping things
Comes desire of painted wings;
And the brightest vision hovers
In the eyes of happy lovers;
The burst of apple-blossom brave
Hides the newly-mounded grave;
The voice of happy bird in brake
Soothes the oft-recurring ache.
Spring is breathing through my hair,
Spring is smiling in the air;

And in her deep delight I share

With far-removed things

THAT CANNOT HOLD ITS SHAPE A SINGLE HOUR."-SMITH.

413

WHICH, IF WE SEEK NOT, WE MAY NEVER SEE?

BE NOT DOWNCAST ALTHOUGH THE HEAVENS FROWN."-SMITH.

"PROSPERITY, LIKE THE SWALLOW, COMES AND GOES: TO-DAY THERE IS THE RUINOUS CLAY

414

THIS LIFE IS BUT A MOMENT'S SPARROW-FLIGHT-(SMITH)

ALEXANDER SMITH.

AND STRAW; TO-MORROW SWEETEST TWITTERINGS FILL OUR EAVES."-ALEXANDER SMITH.

"THE SADDEST GRAVE THAT EVER TEARS KEPT GREEN MUST SINK AT LAST-(SMITH)

NATURE, WHO MAKES THE PERFECT ROSE AND BIRD,

A SPRING CHANSON.

O Spring, Spring, I would meet thee
The happiest man alive,

If-as once I could but greet thee

With the heart of twenty-five,

Which was hermit of its sweetness

As of honey is the hive!

O youth, youth, youth,

More beautiful than truth—

415

The truth that checks the blood, and makes the temples

gray:

The light of thy sunrise

Dwells deep in memory's eyes,

And I feel as bare as winter in the thick leaf-coming May.
O youth, youth, youth,

Time has neither rest nor ruth.
Spring enkindles wood and plain,
But it passes heart and brain.
Spring, above the mountain crag,
Waves the morning's fiery flag,
Draws the evening amethyst-
Time has staled the lips I kissed
In such passion undissembled
That its very rapture trembled.
Spring may walk o'er daisies spread,
With a skylark overhead;

Her garments scented with the May;
Round her footsteps lambs at play.
But she is alien, she is foreign:
Her delight I have no store in.
I regard her as a child
Singing in her spirit wild,
Dancing in the sheer excess

Of a thoughtless happiness.

HAS NEVER MADE THE FULL AND PERFECT MAN."-SMITH.

UNTO THE COMMON LEVEL OF THE WORLD, THEN O'ER IT RUNS A ROAD."-SMITH.

"STUFF YOUR SHOP-WINDOWS THICKLY WITH YOUR GOODS ;-(SMITH)

416

ALEXANDER SMITH.

Her smile is bright, but very shallow,
More I love September's yellow;
Morns of dew-strung gossamer,

Thoughtful days without a stir,
Rooky clangours, brazen leaves,
Stubbles dotted o'er with sheaves,
More than Spring's bright uncontrol
Suit the Autumn of the soul.

"WHEN LORD CHRIST COMES TO HIS OWN, THE TIMES OF WAR ARE O'ER:-(ALEXANDER SMITH)

UPON HIS RAIMENT THERE ARE STAINS OF BLOOD, BUT 'TIS HIS OWN, FOR HE CAN ONLY LOVE."-SMITH.