( " Sonnez, clairons de la pensee! " )

Sound, sound for ever, Clarions of Thought!

When Joshua 'gainst the high-walled city fought,
He marched around it with his banner high,
His troops in serried order following nigh,
But not a sword was drawn, no shaft outsprang,
Only the trumpets the shrill onset rang,
At the first blast, smiled scornfully the king,
And at the second sneered, half-wondering:
" Hop'st thou with noise my stronghold to break down? "
At the third round, the ark of old renown

If on my shoulders never shall be seen
The puissant purple fluttering of the wings
Wherewith the poet beateth as he sings
The high celestial atmospheric sheen,
If I may never say the thing I mean,
And only half an ear my audience brings,
And misdirected are my ambitious slings,
And no Goliath blazing eyes between
My stone hits full — at least she lets me die,
Queen Beauty, as my gentle brother died
Who lies on the Italian mountain-side,
In one long passion of an outpoured sigh
That seemeth tremblingly to wonder why

Pour in the oil, our lamp must drink to-night,
The silent witness of Love's secret rite.
Then go, Philaenis, and shut close the door,
Men's prying eyes young Cupid doth abhor.
And when she's gone, dear Xantho, you and I —
But hush! for us alone Love keeps his mystery.

I.

I look forward fearful,
I look backward tearful,
For dark seems the future — nor proffers one joy;
Fair pleasures are flying,
And fond fancies dying,
That lightened or gladdened my path when a boy.

II.

For all that was dearest,
When kindest and nearest,
And when best approved, has been called for by fate;
The coldest of any,
The valueless many,
Alone live in hope, and are proudly elate.

Gone are the gray mists, Chrysilla, of morning,
Long have we heard chanticleer's jealous cry,
Sending to lovers his message of warning,
Herald of envious dawn in the sky.

Curses upon thee, thou creature remorseless,
Thou shalt not banish me thus from my bliss;
Back to my comrades so dull and resourceless,
Chattering ever of that or of this.

Nay but, Tithonus, thy vigour is waning;
Why dost thou drive fair Aurora away?
Still it is early: thy manhood regaining,
Give one hour more to your marital play.

(“Prions!”)

 Let us pray! Lo, the shadow serene!
God, toward Thee our arms are upraised and our eyes.
They who proffer Thee here their tears and their chain
Are the most sorrowful Thy sorrow tries.
Most honour have they being possessed of most pain.

Let us suffer! The crime will take flight.
Birds passing,—our cottages!
Winds passing,—on weary knees
Mothers, sisters, weep there day and night!
Winds, tell them our miseries!
Birds, bear our heart's love to their sight!

The loves of men as yet are icy floes,
Imperfect, shapeless, in tumultuous motion,
Rolled aimlessly about the mad mid-ocean:
With shocks that shatter and with blinding blows,
Heart-pangs of agony, convulsive throes,
Abandonment of being, death-devotion,
A death that strangles every previous notion,
Harmoniously the glittering ice-berg rose.

I stand beyond the future, and I see
Rise passion-pinnacled the crystal palace,
Awful with unimagined purity;
A frozen rainbow, an inverted chalice,
A dream-encircled dream of what shall be

To Psaumis of C AMARINA , on his Victory in the Chariot Race.

STROPHE.

Great Jove! supreme immortal King!
Borne on the unwearied thunder's wing;
Again thy hours that roll along
Responsive to the varied song,
Awake my Lyre, and send me forth
A witness of heroic worth.
The Virtuous in a Friend's success rejoice,
And join the applauding Herald's chearful voice. —
O son of S ATURN ! who on Ã? TNA 's brow,
The woody load of T YPHON 's giant breast,
Holdest thy high abode; the Graces now

She sets the town ablaze;
Each eager gallant flies,
His hard-won treasure pays
And — Sthenelais — cries;
Nor recks the price if he may take
The girl who soon his life will break.

Ah, happier I than they!
No gold of mine she took,
But with me she did stay
Until the red dawn broke.
The dream-god brought her to my side
In all the pomp of beauty's pride.

Yes, then in sleep revealed
She gave me joys unbought,
My bed did pleasures yield
Which prayers in vain besought.
Vainly do lovers moan and sigh —

My love is waiting in the past,
And I, I cannot go to her:
My eyes are closed, my lips are fast;
Between us comes a shadow vast
And interposes arms of air.

Ah, love, if I could get to you,
If I could break the bands of life,
And bring by death your face in view,
And things that used to be renew,
How I would kiss the keen-edged knife!

How I would run to meet King Death,
And fall upon his icy breast,
And hug each single word he saith, —
If only we might mingle breath,
And in his arms together rest!