" Where'er there's a life to be kindled by love,
Wherever a soul to inspire,
Strike this key-note of God that trembles above
Night's silver-tongued voices of fire. "

Genius is power.
The power that grasps in the universe, that dives out beyond space, and grapples with the starry worlds of heaven.
If genius achieves nothing, shows us no results, it is so much the less genius.

The generous man will not deny
Few monarch's paths in life were stonier
Than that one which was trodden by
Achilles, King of Patagonia.

When he was crowned his subjects cheered,
The bells were rung in every steeple,
From which it certainly appeared
He was the Father of his People.

But envy of his peaceful sway
And of his just administration
Inflamed in a disastrous way
The rulers of the Chilian nation.

They drove Achilles from his throne
To Paris, where his days were ended,
And all impartial men will own

The general dashed along the road
Amid the pelting rain;
How joyously his bold face glowed
To hear our cheers' refrain!

His blue blouse flapped in wind and wet,
His boots were splashed with mire,
But round his lips a smile was set,
And in his eyes a fire.

A laughing word, a gesture kind,—
We did not ask for more,
With thirty weary miles behind,
A weary fight before.

The gun grew light to every man,
The crossed belts ceased their stress,
As onward to the column's van
We watched our leader press.

Genau'r Glyn, Tywyn, each day from these to Rhys's halls
Men flock in companies.
May plenty reign there, may rich peace
Through endless ages never cease!

Long age, as of an oak, be his; may he no end
To Fortune's favour see
Till every star shall numbered be,
Earth's dust and blossoms of each tree.

Like the pied blossoms which the trees adorn, like snow,
Like birds that haunt the corn,
Like rain, like dew that decks the morn,
To him be so my blessing borne.

Blessing like dew, I pray, each valley fill; may Rhys

Gaze not on swans, in whose soft breast
A full-hatched beauty seems to nest,
Nor snow, which falling from the sky,
Hovers in its virginity.

Gaze not on roses, though new-blown,
Graced with a fresh complexion,
Nor lilies, which no subtle bee
Hatch robbed by kissing-chemistry.

Gaze not on that pure Milky Way,
Where night vies splendour with the day,
Nor pearl, whose silver walls confine
The riches of an Indian mine.

For if my Emperess appears,
Swans moulting die, snow melts to tears,
Roses do blush and hang their heads,

Gay little Dandelion
— Lights up the meads,
Swings on her slender foot,
— Telleth her beads,
Lists to the robin's note
— Poured from above;
Wise little Dandelion
— Asks not for love.

Cold lie the daisy banks
— Clothed but in green,
Where, in the days agone,
— Bright hues were seen.
Wild pinks are slumbering,
— Violets delay;
True little Dandelion
— Greeteth the May.

Brave little Dandelion!
— Fast falls the snow,
Bending the daffodil's
— Haughty head low.
Under that fleecy tent,

GAY , guiltless pair,
What seek ye from the fields of heaven?
Ye have no need of prayer,
Ye have no sins to be forgiven.

Why perch ye here,
Where mortals to their Maker bend?
Can your pure spirits fear
The God ye never could offend?

Ye never knew
The crimes for which we come to weep.
Penance is not for you,
Blessed wanderers of the upper deep.

To you 't is given
To wake sweet Nature's untaught lays,
Beneath the arch of heaven
To chirp away a life of praise.

Then spread each wing,

Take of the maiden's, of the mother's sigh,
Of childhood's dream, the hope and peace that bless
Old age; take of the lover's kiss, caress,
Of light it kindles in the loved-one's eye;
Of June's long shadows, Autumn's evening sky,
Of roses, of the south wind's tenderness,
Of stars that burn through pine-tops, sprays that tress
The willow-banks where brooks run stillest by;
Take of the blissful lisping of young Spring,
Take of the last faint, pleading grief of Fall,
Of joy and woe that sleep and waking bring, —

Gay and audacious crime glints in his eyes,
And his mad talk, raping the commonplace,
Gleefully runs a devil-praising race,
And none can ever follow where he flies.
He streaks himself with vices tenderly;
He cradles sin, and with a figleaf fan
Taps his green cat, watching a bored sun span
The wasted minutes to eternity.
Once I took up his trail along the dark,
Wishful to track him to the witches' flame,
To see the bubbling of the sneer and snare.
The way led through a fragrant starlit park,
And soon upon a harlot's house I came—

Gathering the bloom of all the fairest boys that be,
Love wove this varied crown, Venus, for thee.
A lily sweet, Diodorus, there he set;
Asclepiades breathed an odorous violet;
Like rose amid the thorns, Heraclitus next he placed,
While Dion's form, close-clinging vine, the garland graced;
A saffron crocus Theron blazed, the flame-haired lad,
And, bunch of mountain-thyme, Andiades did he add;
Myiscus of the girlish locks a bunch of olive made,
While all the charms of Aretas as foliage round he laid;