Not pale, as one in sleep or holier death,
Nor illcontent the lady seems, nor loth
To lie in shadow of shrill river growth,
So steadfast are the river's arms beneath.

Pale petals follow her in very faith,
Unmixed with pleasure or regret, and both
Her maidly hands look up, in noble sloth
To take the blossoms of her scattered wreath.

No weakest ripple lives to kiss her throat,
Nor dies in meshes of untangled hair;
No movement stirs the floor of river moss.

Until some furtive glimmer gleam across
Voluptuous mouth, where even teeth are bare,

Bells of Christmas soon will chime,
And their tuneful notes will fly
From the steeples white with rime
To the clear star-frosted sky.

Soon the organ pipes will blow
Strains triumphant, loud and long,
And the happy choir arow
Fill the whispering church with song.

Soon the pungent scent of pine
Will perfume the chilly hall,
Holly spray and cedar twine
Precious pictures on the wall.

Soon the Christmas fires will flare
With a consciousness of light,
And home windows everywhere
Flood with golden mist the night.

Faint not, and fret not, for threaten'd woe,
Watchman on Truth's grey height!
Few though the faithful, and fierce though the foe,
Weakness is aye Heaven's might.

Infidel Ammon and niggard Tyre,
Ill-fitted pair, unite;
Some work for love, and some work for hire,
But weakness shall be Heaven's might

Eli's feebleness, Saul's black wrath,
May aid Ahitophel's spite;
And prayers from Gerizim, and curses from Gath—
Our weakness shall prove Heaven's might

Quail not, and quake not, thou Warder bold,
Be there no friend in sight;

If dulness makes a Poem long,
Rubeta, then are you
Long as the Mississippi River,
And quite as dirty, too.

My body which my dungeon is,
And yet my parks and palaces:—
Which is so great that there I go
All the day long to and fro,
And when the night begins to fall
Throw down my bed and sleep, while all
The building hums with wakefulness—
Even as a child of savages
When evening takes her on her way,
(She having roamed a summer's day
Along the mountain-sides and scalp)
Sleeps in an antre of that alp:—
Which is so broad and high that there,
As in the topless fields of air,
My fancy soars like to a kite
And faints in the blue infinite:—

T HERE'S A QUAINT little place they call Lullaby Town—
It's just back of those hills where the sunsets go down.
Its streets are of silver, its buildings of gold,
And its palaces dazzling things to behold;
There are dozens of spires, housing musical chimes;
Its people are folk from the Nursery Rimes,
And at night it's alight, like a garden of gleams,
With fairies, who bring the most wonderful dreams.

The Sandman is Mayor, and he rules like a King.
The climate's so balmy that, always, it's spring,
And it's never too cold, and it's never too hot,

Cove beyond cove, in faint and fainter line
I trace the winding shore, and dream I hear
The distant billows where they break and shine
On the dark isles. Around us, far and near
The bright gay breeze is sweeping cheerily,
Chequering the green moor, like the summer field
Of ocean, with the shadows of the sky.
In all their graceful majesty reveal'd,
Now purple-shaded, now in playful light,
To south and north the glorious hills are seen;
Where hovering fancy may at will alight
By pastoral dingle, or deep rocky screen.

Little they know us, ev'n who know us best.
Oft, when the social circle, frank and gay,
Sports with the topics of the passing day.
I seem, at friendly challenge, with keen zest
To catch and echo back the flying jest;
Yet will my inmost thought be far away—
Like bird that lights, and lights, but does not stay—
Beside my lost ones in their long low rest.
One sleeps in Erin, near the home she bless'd,
Where grateful hearts still worship her; and one,
Who pass'd, his active manhood scarce begun,
And all his poet-soul yet unexpress'd,

But thou be bold: let not thy hopes give way,
Nor one discolouring thought shake with dismay:
For though there came about thee all the alarms
Of war, and earnestness of greedy arms,
Not one should touch thine innocence; not one
Harm the dear life, whose duty has been done.
Lo, the great buckler of the radiant Lord!
He shall thy guardian be, and he thy sword:
He, who at night-time, at their silent post,
Melted the hearts of that Assyrian host,
And scared away from the Sionian hold
All who came thronging from Damascus old.

Oak leaves are big as the mouse's ear,
So, farmer, go plant. But the frost—
Beware! the witch o' the year,
See that her palm be crossed.
The bee is abroad, and the ant;
Spider is busy; ho, farmer, go plant.

The winds blow soft from the glazy sea,
So, merchant, rig ship. But the wave—
Beware! salt water can be
A highway, can be a grave.
Bring silks for milady; a trip
For wines and spices; ho, merchant, rig ship.

I heard round oath at the churchyard door,
So, preacher, go preach. But the Book—
Say yea and nay, and no more;