English

Count the flashes in the surf,
Count the crystals in the snow,
Or the blades above the turf,
Or the dead that sleep below!
These ye count — yet shall not know, —
While I wake or while I slumber, —
Where my thoughts and wishes go,
What her name, and what their number.

Ask the cold and midnight sea,
Ask the silent-falling frost,
Ask the grasses on the lea,
Or the mad maid, passion-crost!
They may tell of posies tost
To the waves where blossoms blow not,
Tell of hearts that staked and lost, —

Graceful, tossing plume of glowing gold,
Waving lonely on the rocky ledge;
Leaning seaward, lovely to behold,
Clinging to the high cliff's ragged edge;

Burning in the pure September sky,
Spike of gold against the stainless blue,
Do you watch the vessels drifting by?
Does the quiet day seem long to you?

Up to you I climb, O perfect shape!
Poised so lightly 'twixt the sky and sea;
Looking out o'er headland, crag, and cape,
O'er the ocean's vague immensity.

Up to you my human thought I bring,

Venus, take this shell,
Offering of a bride!
Once it rose and fell
On thy moony tide;
Let its pearly bulwarks dwell
By thy side.

Rigged with gossamer,
O'er thy seas it flew;
Never a wind would stir
Cord or sail or crew;
Halcyon-like, this mariner
Cleft the blue.

Blithe even so was I,
Gay, light-hearted maid;
Now my sails are dry,
My fond crew afraid;
Goddess, goddess! come, I cry,
To my aid!

Is it bliss or woe,
Nevermore to flee

What can I now suspect, or what can I fear any longer?
Oft did I fear, oft hope, whilst life in Sidney remained:
Of nothing can I now despair, for nought can I hope for:
This good is in misery, when great extremity grieves us,
That neither hope of good, nor fear of worse can affright us.
And can I then complain, when no complaint can avail me?
How can I seem to be discontent, or what can I weep for?
He lives eternal, with endless glory bedecked:
Yea, still on earth he lives, and still shall live by the Muses.

In ancient Rome, the secret fire, —
An intimate and holy thing, —
Was guarded by a tender choir
Of kindred maidens in a ring;
Deep, deep within the home it lay,
No stranger ever gazed thereon,
But, flickering still by night and day,
The beacon of the house, it shone;
Thro' birth and death, from age to age,
It passed, a quenchless heritage;

And there were hymns of mystic tone
Sung round about the family flame,
Beyond the threshold all unknown,
Fast-welded to an ancient name;

Men of thought! be up, and stirring
Night and day:
Sow the seed — withdraw the curtain —
C LEAR THE WAY !
Men of action, aid and cheer them,
As ye may!
There's a fount about to stream,
There's a light about to beam,
There's a warmth about to glow,
There's a flower about to blow;
There's a midnight blackness changing
Into grey.
Men of thought and men of action,
C LEAR THE WAY !

Once the welcome light has broken,
Who shall say
What the unimagined glories
Of the day?

With right good will I'll sail to the land of MacLeod, steering a course for that man of great worth.
It is right that I shall know my way in MacLeod's domain, if hard weather repulse me not.
Westward I'll voyage through the lowering of the storms, to the tower to which tenantry resort,
Since I have heard the precious news and true, that hath banished the pang in my breast.
MacLeod I shall behold, that youth high in esteem, comely of aspect and rich in virtues;

I.

TIME .

Time in threefold measure strides:
Mark the Future's halting guise,
Arrow-like the Present flies,
Still for aye the Past abides.

No impatience pricks his speed
Would he tarry on his way.
No alarms his march impede,
Nor do doubts his footsteps stay.
When he pauses, no remorse
Moves him to resume his course.

Wouldst thou lead a happy life?
Wisely end thy term of strife,
Call the “laggard” to thy side—
Not as tool, but as thy guide.
“Arrow-swift” avoid as friend,

We'll praise thee, Lord! forever;
Thou reignest, King of kings;
Thy wondrous love and favor,
Each ransom'd captive sings:
We'll celebrate thy glory
With all thy saints above,
And tell the joyful story,
Of thy redeeming love.

Three words of significant import I name,
And lips to each other impart;
From no indiscriminate sources they came,
But their origin have in the heart.
And unless these words form part of his creed,
Man is a pitiful creature indeed.

Man was created, and man is,free,
No matter if born in chains:
Let the cry of the rabble pass over thee,
And the howl of extravagant swains!
Of no free man stand thou in fear,
Nor of slave who has conquered a free career.

AndVirtueis more than an echoing call,