English

Fair rose, that fortune favors so,
So near her heart to die,
Her tenderest-spoken word to know,
To share her gentlest sigh;

I fear me, rose, we both shall miss
Joy's perfect measure — thou
Who knowest not, yet hast, the bliss,
And I, who only know.

Alas! the mallows, when along the dale
They fade and perish—when the parsley pale
And the bright-leaved anethus droops—once more
These live, and bloom in beauty, as before.
But we—the wise, the warlike, and the great,
Wither beneath the touch of death—and straight
Sleep, deaf within the hollow earth, a sleep
Eternal, without dreams, and deep.

SONNET .

Thus sung the ancient bard of Sicily,
 The shepherd poet—as he wandered forth,
And saw the flowers of summer droop and die,

1

Such perfect Blisse faire Chloris, wee
In our Enjoyment prove
'Tis pitty restless Jealiousy
Should Mingle with our Love.

2

Lett us (since witt has taught us how)
Raise pleasure to the Topp
You Rivall Bottle must allow
I'le suffer Rivall Fopp.

3

Thinke not in this, that I designe
A Treason 'gainst Loves Charmes
When following the God of Wine

No bird hath ever lifted note so clear,
Or poured so prodigal his lyric breast,
But carried still some music from the nest,
When Winter laid the seal of silence there.
No sea hath ever woo'd the shore so fair
But turn of tide left something half expressed;
Nor true love every burned so strangely blest
That words could hold it all or heart could hear.

And yet the tide will turn again, and tell
Its sweet persistent story o'er and o'er —
The bird take up the cadence where it fell,

Thrilled with heavenward-flaming fires,
When my eyes meet yours,
Mingled joy and pain divine
My prisoned heart endures.
Prisoned still my heart aspires
And never has its say,
Till your dear lips, set to mine,
Drink my soul away.

“The furnace is kindling,” Mohammed said,
As he stood on El Honein's height—
Through the black defile began to spread
Clink and glimmer, angry and red,
Of the fiery spears in fight.

Our spark is stricken!—how fast
The mighty furnace hath lit!
Or ever an hour be past,
'Twill roar, the terrible Blast,
Roar and seethe like the Pit!

Aye, many the day it hath
Stood, heaped with fuel o'ermuch—
Horrors piled for the flame's red path,
Wrath laid up for the Day of Wrath,

Where the elm-tree branches by the rain are stirred,
Careless of the shower, swings a little bird:
Clouds may frown and darken, drops may fall in vain; —
Little heeds the warbler singing in the rain!

Silence soft, unbroken, reigneth everywhere, —
Save the rain's low heart-throbs pulsing on the air, —
Save the song, which, pausing, wins no answering strain; —
Little cares the robin singing in the rain!

Not yet are the orchards rich with rosy snow,
Nor with dandelions are the fields aglow;

S CYTHIAN .

 What does this olive here?

D ELIAN P RIEST

Its branches weave a holy gloom,
Over the northern maiden's tomb,
 Throughout the year:
She came from a land that is far away,
Where the brightness of our southern day
 Is all unknown,
To listen to our Delian god;
And here, beneath the flowery sod,
 She sleeps alone.
And this olive rose up silently,
To shade, with its sacred canopy,
 Her quiet sleep:

Far off in the dim and desolate Past,—
That shoreless and sorrowful sea
Where wrecks are driven by wave and blast,
Shattered, sunken, and lost, at last,
Lies the heart that was broken for me,—
Poor heart!
Long ago broken for me!

My loves were Glory and Pride and Art,—
Ah, dangerous rivals three!
Sweet lips might quiver and warm tears start:
Should an artist pause for a woman's heart,—
Even that which was broken for me?
Poor heart!
Too rare to be broken for me!

Against the baffling winds, with slow advance,
One drear December day,
Up the vexed Channel, toward the coast of France,
Our vessel urged her way.

Around the dim horizon's misty slopes
The storm its banners hung;
And, pulling bravely at the heavy ropes,
The dripping sailors sung.

A little land-bird, from its home-nest warm,
Bewildered, driven, and lost,
With wearied wings, came drifting on the storm,
From the far English coast.

Blown blindly onward, with a headlong speed