English

O there's many a vista grand and bright
 By mountain and plain and sea,
But the loveliest spot that the wide earth owns
 Is the valley of Yomoree.

The hills sweep round like a mighty bowl,
 And the vale it lies below,
Where the river winds in a silver band
 And tufted palm-trees grow.

A thousand feet from the sheer, sheer verge!
 A thousand feet of air!
A grisly brink, and a ghastly fall
 From the cliff to the valley fair!

In fiery Alvarado's time,
 When the Spaniard swept the land,

Lone and far, lone and far
On a track that is strange and long,
From the morning's rim to the evening star
To the Pass of the silent song.

Far and lone, far and lone,
Where the rise and the rocks are bare,
And the sun has flamed, and the moon has shone
On the aeons of desert air.

Lone and far, lone and far,
Till the eye to the summit wins,
And below, the plains and the mountains are,
And the lilt of the song begins.

Far and lone, far and lone
Will the tune of it lift and wend,

1.

As in a cave,
 Where darkness justles out the day,
But yet doth give
Some small admission to one feeble ray,
Some of all species do distinctly play.

2.

Just even thou,
 Whom wonder hath not fully clear'd,
Thyself dost shew,
That in thy little chaos all's enspher'd,
And though abridg'd, yet in full greatness rear'd.

Which is the fairest of Shakespeare's girls—
The brightest, the dearest of all his train,
That shook to the breeze their dancing curls
In the sweetness and spring-tide of beauty's reign?
Shall I answer you? Portia, in Belmont's bower?
Or fair Imogen in her Warwick tower?
Dear Jessica, Rosalind, Isábel?
Nay, answer yourself; I cannot tell.

But which would you name for your wedded choice?
Pray, which would you marry? tell me that:
Cordelia true, with her gentle voice?
Sweet Anne Page, in her Stratford hat?

Once more on the shore of the Upper Ausable
We gather to-night — the " Knights of the Table, "
With purple-peaked mountains above and below us,
To drink to the " health " of the Club of Tahawas.

Unloosen the knapsack, and ring out a chorus
To brothers and friends who have been here before us;
With greeting to streamlet and cascade that know us,
We mingle our song with the voice of Tahawas.

The clan-word is sounded, the camp-fires are burning;
Tahawas! Tahawas! your sons are returning.

I stroll forth this flowery day
Of " print frocks " and buds of may,
And speedwells of tender blue
Whom no sky can match for hue.

I love well my English home;
Yet far thoughts do stealing come
To throng me like honey-bees,
Till far flowers my fancy sees —

'Tis almond against the snows,
And gentian, and mountain rose,
And iris, in purple bright,
The France flower, the flower of light!

All sweet and startled gravity,
My Love comes walking from the Park;
Her eyes are full of what they've seen —
The little bushes puffing green,
The candles pale that light the chestnut-tree.

The tulip and the jonquil spies;
The sunshine and the sudden dark;
The dance of buds; and Madam Dove,
Sir Blackbird fluting to his Love —
These little loves my Love has in her eyes.

In dainty shoes and subtle hose
My Love comes walking from the Park;
She is, I swear, the sweetest thing

I.

Three happy days we had been out
Among the awful hills,
Learning their secrets by the sides
Of dark, untrodden rills.

II.

We had companions all the day —
Rainbows and silver gleams;
And quiet rivers all the night
To mingle with our dreams.

III.

We spoke of great and solemn things,
Like earnest-minded men,
And often rode unheedingly

THE LADY MARGARET'S PROFESSOR IN CAMBRIDGE .

Were 't not peculiar to weep for thee,
The world might put on mourning, and yet be
Below just grief: Stupendous man! who told
By vast endowments that she grew not old.
But thine own hands have rais'd a monument
Far greater than thyself, which shall be spent
When error conquers truth, and time shall be
No more, but swallow'd by eternity;
But when shall sullen darkness fly away,
And thine own ectype, Brownrigg, give it day!
Or when shall ravish'd Europe understand,

Winter and snow-drifts compass me, —
You dwell where warmth and sunshine are, —
Between, the miles stretch drearily;
O inaccessible and far!
I wonder if your memory thrills
When threatening clouds the sunset drown?
Look toward these bleak and desolate hills,
Beloved, when the night shuts down!

O winter-fettered soul! O love,
With sorrow's self forever twinned!
The cold skies threaten from above, —
The wild waves wrestle with the wind, —
While Eve unbraids her shadowy locks,