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A whisper from his dawn of life ? a breath
From some fair dawn beyond the doors of death

Far-far--away?
Far, far, how far ? from o'er the gates of Birth,
The faint horizons, all the bounds of earth,

Far--far--away?
What charm in words, a charm no words could give ?
O dying words, can Music make you live

Far-far-away?

BEAUTIFUL CITY. BEAUTIFUL city, the centre and crater of European confusion, O you with your passionate shriek for the rights of an equal

humanity, How often your Re-volution has proven but E-volution Roll'd again back on itself in the tides of a civic insanity!

THE ROSES ON THE TERRACE.

Rose, on this terrace fifty years ago,

When I was in my June, you in your May,
Two words, “ My Rose," set all your face aglow,

And now that I am white, and you are gray,
That blush of fifty years ago, my dear,

Blooms in the Past, but close to me to-day
As this red rose, which on our terrace here

Glows in the blue of fifty miles away.

TO ONE WHO RAN DOWN THE ENGLISH.

You make our faults too gross, and thence maintain
Our darker future. May your fears be vain !
At times the small black fly upon the pane
May seem the black ox of the distant plain.

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Coming in the cold time,
Prophet of the gay time,
Prophet of the May time,
Prophet of the roses,
Many, many welcomes
February fair-inaid !

THE THROSTLE.

“SUMMER is coming, summer is coming.

I know it, I know it, I know it.
Light again, leaf again, life again, love again,”

Yes, my wild little Poet.

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Sing the new year in under the blue.

Last year you sang it as gladly.
New, new, new, new !” Is it then so new
That you should carol so madly?

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“Love again, song again, nest again, young again,”

Never a prophet so crazy!
And hardly a daisy as yet, little friend,

See, there is hardly a daisy.

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“ Here again, here, here, here, happy year r!

O warble unchidden, unbidden ! Summer is coming, is coming, my dear,

And all the winters are hidden.

THE OAK.

LIVE thy Life,

Young and old,
Like yon oak,
Bright in spring,

Living gold;

Summer-rich

Then ; and then
Autumn-changed,
Soberer-hued

Gold again.

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" COMING IN THE COLD TIME PROPHET OF THE GAY TIME."Page 458.

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All his leaves

Fall’n at length,
Look, he stands,
Trunk and bough,

Naked strength.

IN MEMORIAM.

W. G. WARD.

FAREWELL, whose like on earth I shall not find,

Whose Faith and Work were bells of full accord, My friend, the most unworldly of mankind,

Most generous of all Ultramontanes, Ward, How subtle at tierce and quart of mind with mind,

How loyal in the following of thy Lord !

CROSSING THE BAR.

SUNSET and evening star,

And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep

Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark !
And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark ;

For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place

The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crost the bar.

THE END.

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