Restore, O Thought, whose potent weird
Recalls the Past on lagging pinion,
The corbeled roof De Lancey reared
What time Queen Anne maintained dominion.

Away with dust and rattling pave!
Let all be swarded, green and trim,
And call the river's banished wave
Again to lap a garden's rim.

How bright with silk and rich brocade,
With baldric broad and tossing feather.
The Long Room rilled when youth and maid
Went swinging down the floor together!

Those heavy beams could make avow
Of all the joys of dance and reel,

Thou, who, in thine own bitter words, didst keep
A burning heart amid the eternal snows, —
Say, whether in the garth of death there grows
A herb to staunch thy grief and yield thee sleep.

Breathe gentlier, gentlier there! oh slumber deep
No more the fangs of fruitless longing close
Fast in that flesh from which the life-blood flows,
Back from that brow the clouds of torture sweep.

Beyond the lot of man thou sufferedst pain;
But thy great spirit, through the winnowing fire,
Like noblest metal from a raging pyre,

Poor Celia sell sick and look'd wonderful bad
Which greatly alarm'd both her mammy and dad,
The cause of her illness no one could come nigh,
For all that, she said, was alas! I shall die.

The doctor was sent for, and came in all haste,
In desperate cases there's no time to waste;
He smelt of his cane, and he turn'd up his eye
Yet Celia said doctor, alas! I shall die.

He next felt her pulse, cry'd, hem, and then, ha!
And canvast in thought o'er the physical law,
Paracelsus , or Galen , could not shew him why,

" You — tell the history of mine eyes?
Well — some men's fancies are unruly!
'T would take three volumes at the least —
Ay — twenty, — if you told it truly."
" No matter: let me try the task,
Though possibly my heart may rue it,
If, gazing on their light meanwhile,
I strive to render justice to it.

" One morn — 't was twenty Mays ago —
The meadows gleamed with flowery whiteness,
When on the world those eye-lids oped,

Ye sister Muses, do not ye repine,
That I two sisters do with nine compare,
Since each of these is far more truly rare,
Than the whole troop of all the heav'nly nine.
But if she ask me which is more divine,
I anwer, like to their twin eyes they are,
Of which each is more bright than brightest star,
Yet neither doth more bright than other shine.

Sisters of spotless fame, of whom alone
Malicious tongue takes pleasure to speak well,
How should I you commend, sith either one
All things in heav'n and earth so far excel?

Mine eye with all the deadly sins is fraught:
First Proud, sith it presumed to look so high;
A watchman being made, stood gazing by,
And Idle, took no heed till I was caught:
And Envious, bears envy that my thought
Should in his absence be to her so nigh:
To Kill my heart, mine eye let in her eye,
And so consent gave to a murder wrought:
And Covetous, it never would remove
From her fair hair, gold so doth please his sight:
Unchaste, a bawd between my heart and love:
A Glutton eye, with tears drunk every night.

WHO WAS AFRAID TO SPEAK HIS MIND ON A GREAT QUESTION.

Shame upon thee, craven spirit!
Is it manly, just or brave,
If a truth have shone within thee,
To conceal the light it gave?
Captive of the world's opinion —
Free to speak — but yet a slave?

All conviction should be valiant —
Tell thy truth — if truth it be;
Never seek to stem its current,
Thoughts like rivers find the sea,
It will fit the widening circle
Of Eternal Verity.

Speak thy thought if thou believ'st it,
Let it jostle whom it may,

Under the fluted
Velvet datura's
Trumpets of perfume
Virginal white,
Long I waited,
Leaning my elbows
Hard on the marble
Over the lake,
Dreamily questioning
What is the mystery,
What is the secret
Issue of life?
Years pass over us,
Years glide by with us, —
Years like the sandalo
Scoring the blue;
Faint white wake of it,
Noiseless oars of it,
Woundless waters
Melting behind.
What is the worth of it?
What the meaning?
What the issue
When life is done?

So, for ages,

How happy a shepherd was I!
My cot with contentment was blest,
Ere, Delia sweet maid passed by!
Ere Cupid, had wounded my breast.
With the lark in the morning I rose,
My flock to attend all the day,
At night, ah! how sweet my repose:
But Delia, has stole it away.

How dismal, alas! is the change
I tumble and sigh! all the night,
How dull o'er the meadows I range,
No prospect can yield me delight.
My pipe I've thrown careless away,
My songs I have almost forgot,
Oh! Delia — I sigh all the day,

The angels call me — Io, I come!
Children, I die! I'm going home!
All pangs, save one, have pass'd away,
All griefs and sufferings of clay,
Except this lingering, fond distress,
That yields not to forgetfulness —
The last affection of my heart,
The pain, the grief, that we must part.

No more! a hope to sorrow given
Says earthly love may bloom in heaven,
May soar, if pure, to God's right hand:
I go, I seek the happy land.
Ah! no, not yet; the sunshine fair
Revives me for a while: the air
Blows calm and cool. Oh, living breath!