I HAVE read of a man encompassed
By phantoms dire and grim;
In an ancient park,
As the day grew dark,
They came about his pathway dim,
And with weird eyes encompassed him.

It was the Roundhead captain,
The dreamer Harrison.
With carnal might
He strove to smite
The ghosts, that closed his blade upon
Like thin folds of a vapour dun.

In such an armageddon
Do not all mortals strive?
Our timorous wills
Create vague ills
Whereat we strike—but they survive
The many-spending blows we give.

Good friend! waste not your prowess

Go back to antique ages, if thine eyes
The genuine mien and character would trace
Of the rash Spirit that still holds her place,
Prompting the world's audacious vanities!
Go back, and see the Tower of Babel rise;
The pyramid extend its monstrous base,
For some Aspirant of our short-lived race,
Anxious an aëry name to immortalize.
There, too, ere wiles and politic dispute
Gave specious colouring to aim and act,
See the first mighty Hunter leave the brute—
To chase mankind, with men in armies packed
For his field-pastime high and absolute,

I wonder where the rabbits go
Who leave their tracks across the snow;
For when I follow to their den
The tracks always start out again.

1. Lord, at this closing hour, Establish
2. Peace to our brethren give; Fill all our
every heart Upon thy word of
hearts with love; In faith and patience
truth and power, To keep us when we part.
may we live, And seek our rest above.

3. Through changes bright or drear,
We would thy will pursue;
And toil to spread thy kingdom here,
Till we its glory view.

4. To God, the Only Wise,
In every age adored,
Let glory from the Church arise
Through Jesus Christ our Lord.

“He flatter'd in youth, he lampoon'd in his prime,”
Quoth Memory's Bard of our poet;
But the fault was not his, 'twas a deed done by Time,
My very next stanza shall show it.

Whoever has sported on Tempe's green lawn,
Has found out the truth of the matter;
'Tis plain that, by law mythologic, a Faun
In process of time grows a Satyr.

I know not how it may be with others
Who sit amid relics of householdry
That date from the days of their mothers' mothers,
But well I know how it is with me
Continually.

I see the hands of the generations
That owned each shiny familiar thing
In play on its knobs and indentations,
And with its ancient fashioning
Still dallying:

Hands behind hands, growing paler and paler,
As in a mirror a candle-flame
Shows images of itself, each frailer
As it recedes, though the eye may frame
Its shape the same.

T HERE'S nae lark loves the lift, my dear,
———There's nae ship loves the sea,
There's nae bee loves the heather-bells,
———That loves as I love thee, my love,
———That loves as I love thee.

The whin shines fair upon the fell,
———The blithe broom on the lea:
The muirside wind is merry at heart:
———It's a' for love of thee, my love,
———It's a' for love of thee.

False world, thou ly'st: Thou canst not lend
The least delight:
Thy favours cannot gain a Friend,
They are so slight;
Thy morning pleasures make an end
To please at night:
Poore are the wants that thou supply'st:
And yet thou vaunt'st, and yet thou vy'st
With heav'n; Fond earth, thou boasts; false world, thou ly'st.
Thy babbling tongue tells golden tales
Of endless treasure;
Thy bountie offers easie sales
Of lasting pleasure;
Thou ask'st the Conscience what she ails,
And swear'st to ease her;
There's none can want where thou supply'st:

Why dost thou shade thy lovely face? O why
Does that ecclipsing hand, so long, deny
The Sun-shine of thy soule-enliv'ning eye?

Without that Light, what light remaines in me?
Thou art my Life, my Way, my Light; in Thee
I live, I move, and by thy beames I see.

Thou art my Life; If thou but turne away,
My life's a thousand deaths: thou art my Way;
Without thee, Lord, I travell not, but stray.

My Light thou art; without thy glorious sight,
Mine eyes are darkned with perpetuall night.
My God, thou art my Way, my Life, my Light.

Even like two little bank-dividing brooks,
That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,
And having ranged and searched a thousand nooks,
Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames
Where in a greater current they conjoin:
So I my Best-Beloved's am, so he is mine.

Even so we met; and after long pursuit
Even so we joined; we both became entire;
No need for either to renew a suit,
For I was flax and he was flames of fire:
Our firm united souls did more than twine,
So I my Best-Beloved's am, so he is mine.