IF HE HEARD US, HE WOULD SURELY (FOR THEY CALL HIM GOOD AND MILD) ANSWER, "OUR FATHER !

"BUT LOVE STRIKES ONE HOUR-LOVE. THOSE NEVER LOVED

THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST.

Which shall seem to understand,

Till I answer, 'Rise, and go;

For the world must love and fear him

Whom I gift with heart and hand.'

66

Then he will arise so pale,

I shall feel my own lips tremble

With a Yes I must not say,
Natheless maiden-brave; Farewell,'

I will utter and dissemble

'Light to-morrow with to-day.'
"Then he'll ride among the hills
To the wide world past the river;
There to put away all wrong,
To make straight distorted wills,
And to empty the broad quiver
Which the wicked bear along.

"Three times shall a young foot-page
Swim the stream and climb the mountain,

And kneel down beside my feet-
'Lo, my master sends this gage,
Lady, for thy pity's counting!
What wilt thou exchange for it?'

"And the first time I will send
A white rosebud for a guerdon;
And the second time, a glove;
But the third time-I may bend
From my pride, and answer-' Pardon,
If he comes to take my love.'

"Then the young foot-page will run ;
Then my lover will ride faster,

Till he kneeleth at my knee :

'I am a duke's eldest son,

WHO DREAM THAT THEY LOVED ONCE."-E. B. BROWNING.

237

SMILING DOWN THE STEEP WORLD VERY PURELY, COME AND REST WITH ME, MY CHILD.'"-E. B. BROWNING.

"HE [COWPER] TESTIFIED THIS SOLEMN TRUTH, THOUGH FRENZY-DESOLATED

"OF THOSE WHO SIT AND LOVE YOU, UP IN HEAVEN,

[ELIZABETH Barrett BrowNING was born in 1809, married to Robert Browning, the poet, in 1846, died in 1861. Her poetical genius was of a lofty order; with the heart of a woman she combined a man's brain. Her principal works are "The Drama of Exile," Casa Guidi Windows," "Aurora Leigh," and "Poems before Congress." Her minor poems are instinct with the true afflatus.]

SAY NOT, WE LOVED THEM ONCE.' -E. B. BROWNING.

'NOR MAN, NOR NATURE, SATISFY WHOM ONLY GOD CREATED.'"-E. B. BROWNING.

"GOD STRIKES A SILENCE THROUGH YOU ALL, AND GIYETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP!"-E. B. BROWNING.

66

SING OUT, CHILDREN, AS THE LITTLE THRUSHES DO." -MRS. BROWNING.

.

A DEAD ROSE.

ROSE, who dares to name thee?

No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet,

But pale, and hard, and dry as stubble-wheat-
Kept seven years in a drawer, thy titles shame thee.

The breeze that used to blow thee

Between the hedge-row thorns, and take away
An odour up the lane, to last all day—

If breathing now, unsweetened would forego thee.
The sun that used to smite thee,

And mix his glory in thy gorgeous corn,

Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn,—
If shining now, with not a hue would light thee.

The dew that used to wet thee,

And, white first, grew incarnadined, because
It lay upon thee where the crimson was--
If dropping now, would darken where it met thee.

The fly that lit upon thee,

To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet
Along thy leaf's pure edges after heat-
If lighting now, would coldly overrun thee.

The bee that once did suck thee,

And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive,
And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive-
If passing now, would blindly overlook thee.

The heart doth recognize thee,

Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet,

6. THE YOUNG BIRDS ARE CHIRPING IN THE NEST."-MRS. BROWNING.

"O EARTH, SO FULL OF DREARY NOISES!

O MEN, WITH WAILING IN YOUR VOICES!"-E. B. BROWNING.

240

HE MAKES NO FRIEND WHO NEVER MADE A FOE."-TENNYSON.

INCITEMENT TO PERSEVERANCE.

Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete-
Perceiving all those changes that disguise thee.
Yes, and the heart doth owe thee

More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold

Which Julia wears at dances, smiling cold :—
Lie still upon this heart which breaks below thee!

[ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.]

"WE GAPE, WE GRASP, WE GRIPE, ADD STORE TO STORE; ENOUGH REQUIRES TOO MUCH; TOO MUCH CRAVES MORE."-QUARLES.

INCITEMENT TO PERSEVERANCE.

S

|AY not, the struggle nought availeth,
The labour and the wounds are vain;
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been they remain.
If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It may be, in yon smoke concealed,
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
And, but for you, possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
Seem here no powerful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent, flooding in, the main.

And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light;
In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly,
But westward, look, the land is bright.

[ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH, author of "The Bothie of Tober-na-Vuolich,”
a singularly original poem in English hexameters, &c., born 1819, died
1861.]

"HOW VAIN IS WORTH! HOW SHORT IS GLORY'S DATE!"-CHURCHILL.

"CONQUER WE SHALL, BUT WE MUST FIRST CONTEND; 'TIS NOT THE FIGHT THAT CROWNS US, BUT THE END."-R. HERRICK.

"GREEN FIELDS OF ENGLAND! WHERESOE'ER ACROSS THIS WATERY WASTE WE FARE,

"THEIRS BE NO FLOWER THAT WITHERS ON THE STALK,

GONE IMAGE AT OUR HEARTS WE BEAR, GREEN FIELDS OF ENGLAND EVERYWHERE."-A. H. CLOUGH.

IPS, lips, open!

Up comes a little bird that lives inside,

Up comes a little bird, and peeps and out he flies.

All the day he sits inside, and sometimes he sings,
Up he comes and out he goes at night to spread his wings.

BUT ROSES CROPPED, THAT SHALL NOT BLOOM IN VAIN."-ELLIOTT.