English

The loudest sound that burdens here the breeze
Is the wood's whisper; 'tis when we choose to list
Audible sound, and when we list not,
It is calm profound. Tongues were provided
But to vex the ear with superficial thoughts.
When deeper thoughts upswell, the jarring discord
Of harsh speech is hushed, and senses seem
As little as may be to share the extacy.

Brief on a flying night,
From the shaken tower,
A flock of bells take flight,
And go with the hour.

Like birds from the cote to the gales,
Abrupt—oh, hark!—
A fleet of bells set sails,
And go to the dark.

Sudden the cold airs swing:
Alone, aloud,
A verse of bells takes wing
And flies with the cloud.

While the master was wrapped in slumber the fishing-boat slipped its stake,
And drifted, and swirled, and drifted far over the broadening lake,
Till islets, and mainland, and forests came into view once more,
While the fisherman gazed and pondered the lay of the new-found shore.
But erelong he espied an opening, shown by the broken wave,
And in venturous mood he steered his boat into a narrow cave,
Where an azure mist obscured the scenes through channels long and low,
As the current bore him gently into a world of long ago.

Glimmer'd along the square-cut steep.
They chew'd the cud in hollows deep;
Their cheeks moved and the bones therein.
The lawless honey eaten of old
Has lost its savour and is roll'd
Into the bitterness of sin.

What would befal the godless flock
Appear'd not for the present, till
A thread of light betray'd the hill
Which with its lined and creased flank
The outgoings of the vale does block.
Death's bones fell in with sudden clank
As wrecks of minèd embers will.

The summer sun was soft and bland,
As they went through the meadow land.

The little wind that hardly shook
The silver of the sleeping brook
Blew the gold hair about her eyes,—
A mystery of mysteries!
So he must often pause, and stoop,
And all the wanton ringlets loop
Behind her dainty ear—emprise
Of slow event and many sighs.

Across the stream was scarce a step,—
And yet she feared to try the leap;
And he, to still her sweet alarm,
Must lift her over on his arm.

She could not keep the narrow way,

O nameless warrior, whose feet
Have borne thee to thy goal,
Pray thou for me, while dust and heat
Lie heavy on my soul!

Here, in what heritage of ease,
The years give rest to them,
Because of old thy crossèd knees
Knelt in Jerusalem!

And tell me, were the gates of pear?
And were the streets of gold?
And did the Tree of Life unfurl
Leaves lovely to behold?

Shone she with jewels round about
Her deeply-founded wall,
Making her very stones cry out
Of Love who died for all?

What poor little fellows are we!
Tho' we manage to make a great show,
Yet death has a claim on us all,
And the king and the beggar must go.
How vain the distinctions we make!
Neither wisdom nor wealth can us save,
But the prince and the peasant alike
Are journeying on to the grave.

Then why should we listen to aught
Which pride or which vanity saith?
We're all on the current of time,
And bound for the narrows of death.
The shafts of misfortune and fate
Know neither the high nor the low;

Heap high the board with plenteous cheer and gather to the feast,
And toast that sturdy Pilgrim band whose courage never ceased.
Give praise to that All-Gracious One by whom their steps were led,
And thanks unto the harvest's Lord who sends our daily bread.

Heap high the board with plenteous cheer and gather to the feast,
And toast that sturdy Pilgrim band whose courage never ceased.
Give praise to that All-Gracious One by whom their steps were led,
And thanks unto the harvest's Lord who sends our daily bread.

A SUPERCILIOUS NABOB of the East—
Haughty, being great—purse-proud, being rich—
A governor, or general, at the least,
I have forgotten which—

Had in his family a humble youth,
Who went from England in his patron's suite,
An unassuming boy, in truth
A lad of decent parts, and good repute.

This youth had sense and spirit;
But yet, with all his sense,
Excessive diffidence
Obscured his merit.

One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine,
His Honor, proudly free, severely merry,

“H OW long shall Man be Nature's fool?” Man cries;
“Be like those great, gaunt oxen, drilled and bound,
Inexorably driven round and round
To turn the water-wheel with bandaged eyes?
And as they trudge beneath Egyptian skies,
Watering the wrinkled desert's beggared ground,
The hoarse Sâkiyeh's lamentable sound
Fills all the land as with a people's sighs?”

Poor Brutes! Who in unconsciousness sublime,
Replenishing the ever-empty jars,
Endow the waste with palms and harvest gold: