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Come with thy crowd of dreams, O thou! to whom All noise is most abhorred, and in this gloom, Beneath the shaded brightness of the sky,

Where are no sounds but as the winds go by,Here touch our eyes, great Somnus! with thy wand. Ah! here thou art, with touch most mild and bland, And we forget our hymn, and sink away;

And here, until broad day

Come up into the sky, with fire-steeds leaping,
Will we recline, beneath the vine-leaves sleeping.

TO SPRING.

O THOU delicious Spring!

Nursed in the lap of thin and subtle showers,
Which fall from clouds that lift their snowy wing
From odorous beds of light-enfolded flowers,
And from enmassèd bowers

That over grassy walks their greenness fling,
Come, gentle Spring!

Thou lover of young wind,

That cometh from the invisible upper sea

Beneath the sky, which clouds, its white foam, bind, And, settling in the trees deliciously,

Makes young leaves dance with glee,

Even in the teeth of that old sober hind,
Winter unkind,-

Come to us; for thou art

Like the fine love of children, gentle Spring,
Touching the sacred feeling of the heart,
Or like a virgin's pleasant welcoming;
And thou dost ever bring

A tide of gentle but resistless art
Upon the heart.

Red Autumn from the south

Contends with thee; alas! what may he show?

What are his purple-stained and rosy mouth, And browned cheeks, to thy soft feet of snow, And timid, pleasant glow,

Giving earth-piercing flowers their primal growth, And greenest youth?

Gay Summer conquers thee;

And yet he has no beauty such as thine.
What is his ever-streaming, fiery sea,
To the pure glory that with thee doth shine?
Thou season most divine,

What may his dull and lifeless minstrelsy
Compare with thee?

Come, sit upon the hills,

And bid the waking streams leap down their side, And green the vales with their slight-sounding rills; And when the stars upon the sky shall glide,

And crescent Dian ride,

I too will breathe of thy delicious thrills,
On grassy hills.

Alas! bright Spring, not long

Shall I enjoy thy pleasant influence;

For thou shalt die the summer heat among,
Sublimed to vapour in his fire intense,
And, gone for ever hence,

Exist no more: no more to earth belong,
Except in song.

So I who sing shall die,

Worn unto death, perchance, by care and sorrow;
And, fainting thus with an unconscious sigh,
Bid unto this poor body a good-morrow

Which now sometimes I borrow,

And breathe of joyance keener and more high,
Ceasing to sigh!

S. MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI.

[Born in 1810. Miss Fuller was educated by her father, and applied herself to learning with severe application. She became principal teacher in Greene St. School, Providence, Rhode Island; published Woman in the Nineteenth Century, and other prose works, and was a contributor to the New York Tribune from 1844. In 1846 she came to Europe, and soon afterwards married the Marchese Ossoli. On her voyage back to America she was drowned, 16 July 1850, along with her husband and their infant, from whom she refused to be divided. Emerson has written the Life of this remarkable woman, who produced a deep impression upon many of her eminent contemporaries. Her published poems are not numerous].

ORPHEUS.

EACH Orpheüs must to the depths descend,-
For only thus the poet can be wise;
Must make the sad Persephone his friend,
And buried love to second life arise;
Again his love must lose through too much love,
Must lose his life by living life too true,
For what he sought below is passed above,
Already done is all that he would do;
Must tune all being with his single lyre,

Must melt all rocks free from their primal pain,
Must search all Nature with his one soul's fire,
Must bind anew all forms in heavenly chain.

If he already sees what he must do,

Well may he shade his eyes from the far-shining view.

ENCOURAGEMENT.

FOR the Power to whom we bow
Has given its pledge that, if not now,
They of pure and steadfast mind,
By faith exalted, truth refined,
Shall hear all music loud and clear,
Whose first notes they ventured here.
Then fear not thou to wind the horn,
Though elf and gnome thy courage scorn.

N

194

MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI.

Ask for the castle's king and queen :-
Though rabble rout may rush between,
Beat thee senseless to the ground,
In the dark beset thee round-
Persist to ask and it will come,

Seek not for rest in humbler home:
So shalt thou see what few have seen,
The palace-home of King and Queen.

TO

WITH HEARTSEASE.

CONTENT, in purple lustre clad,
Kingly serene, and golden glad ;
No demi-hues of sad contrition,
No pallors of enforced submission ;-
Give me such content as this,
And keep awhile the rosy bliss.

SUB ROSA CRUX.

In times of old, as we are told,
When men more childlike at the feet
Of Jesus sat than now,

A chivalry was known, more bold
Than ours, and yet of stricter vow,
And worship more complete.

Knights of the Rosy Cross: they bore
Its weight within the breast, but wore,
Without, the sign, in glistening ruby bright.
The gall and vinegar they drank alone,
But to the world at large would only own
The wine of faith, sparkling with rosy light.

They knew the secret of the sacred oil
Which, poured upon the prophet's head,
Could keep him wise and pure for aye,
Apart from all that might distract or soil;
With this their lamps they fed,
Which burn in their sepulchral shrines,
Unfading, night and day.

The pass-word now is lost.

To that initiation full and free;

Daily we pay the cost

Of our slow schooling for divine degree.

We know no means to feed an undying lamp,-
Our lights go out in every wind and damp.

We wear the Cross of Ebony and Gold,—
Upon a dark back-ground a form of light,
A heavenly hope within a bosom cold,
A starry promise in a frequent night;
And oft the dying lamp must trim again,
For we are conscious, thoughtful, striving men.

Yet be we faithful to this present trust,
Clasp to a heart resigned this faithful Must.
Though deepest dark our efforts should enfold,
Unwearied, mine to find the vein of gold;
Forget not oft to waft the prayer on high;—
The rosy dawn again shall fill the sky.

And by that lovely light all truth revealed,
The cherished forms which sad distrust concealed,
Transfigured yet the same, will round us stand,
The kindred angels of a faithful band;

Ruby and Ebon Cross then cast aside,—
No lamp more needed, for the night has died.

"Be to the best thou knowest ever true,"
Is all the creed.

Then, be thy talisman of rosy hue,

Or fenced with thorns, that, wearing, thou must bleed, Or gentle pledge of love's prophetic view,

The faithful steps it will securely lead.

Happy are all who reach that distant shore,
And bathe in heavenly day;

Happiest are those who high the banner bore,
To marshal others on the way,

Or waited for them, fainting and way-worn,
By burthens overborne.

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