You watch'd not I, she did not grow,

she died.

alls flat before your least unwillingness. : till would you — if it please you --- sit

to me? I dream'd last night of that clear

summer noon, Vhen seated on a rock, and foot to foot Vith your own shadow in the placid lake, 'ou claspt our infant daughter, heart to

heart. had been among the hills, and brought

• Father and Mother will watch you

grow, And gather the roses whenever they

blow, And find the white heather wherever you go,

My sweet.'

you down

length of staghorn-moss, and this you

twined About her cap.

I see the picture yet, Mother and child. A sound from far away, No louder than a bee among the flowers, I fall of water lull’d the noon asleep. lou still'd it for the moment with a song Which often echo'd in me, while I stood Before the great Madonna-masterpieces Df ancient Art in Paris, or in Rome.

Mary, my crayons! if I can, I will. You should have been I might have

made you once, Had I but known you as I know you

nowThe true Alcestis of the time. Your

song Sit, listen! I remember it, a proof That I-even I -- at times remember'd

you.

Ah, my white heather only blooms in

heaven With Milton's amaranth. There, there,

there! a child Had shamed me at it — Down, you idle

tools, Stampt into dust -- tremulous, all awry, Blurr'd like a landskip in a ruffled pool, Not one stroke firm. This Art, that

harlot-like Seduced me from you, leaves me harlot

like, Who love her still, and whimper, im

potent To win her back before I die - and

then Then, in the loud world's bastard judg.

ment-day, One truth will damn me with the mind.

less mob, Who feel no touch of my temptation, more Than allthe myriad lies, that blacken round The corpse of every man that gains a

name; • This model husband, this fine Artist'!

Fool, What matters? Six foot deep of burial

mould Will dull their comments! Ay, but when

the shout Of His descending peals from Heaven,

and throbs Thro' earth, and all her graves, if He

should ask, •Why left you wife and children? for

‘Beat upon mine, little heart! beat,

beat! Beat upon mine! you are mine, my

sweet! All mine from your pretty blue eyes to your feet,

My sweet.' Less profile! turn to me three-quarter

face.

my sake,

Sleep, little blossom, my honey, my

bliss! For I give you this, and I give you this ! And I blind your pretty blue eyes with a kiss!

Sleep!' Too early blinded by the kiss of death *Father and Mother will watch you

grow'.

According to my word?' and I replied, Nay, Lord, for Art,' why, that would

sound so mean That all the dead, who wait the doom of

Hell
For bolder sins than mine, adulteries,

Wife-murders, – nay, the ruthless Mussul

man

Bards, that the mighty Muses have raise

to the heights of the mountain, And over the flight of the Age!

Goddesses, help me up thither. Lightning may shrivel the laurel :

Cæsar, but mine would not with: Steep is the mountain, but you, you .

help me to overcome it, And stand with my head in the zer:

and roll my voice from the sun Sounding for ever and ever thro' Ex

and her listening nations, And mixt with the great Sphere-musical

stars and of constellations.

II.

Who flings his bow'strung Harem in the

sea, Would turn, and glare at me, and point

and jeer, And gibber at the worm, who, living,

made The wife of wives a widow-bride, and lost Salvation for a sketch.

I am wild again! The coals of fire you heap upon my head Have crazed me. Some one knocking

there without? No! Will my Indian brother come? to

find Me or my coffin? Should I know the

man? This worn-out Reason dying in her house May leave the windows blinded, and if so, Bid him farewell for me, and tell him

Hope! I hear a death-bed Angel whisper. Hope.' “The miserable have no medicine But only Hope!' He said it ... in

the play. His crime was of the senses; of the mind Mine; worse, cold, calculated.

Tell my son — O let me lean my head upon your breast. “Beat little heart' on this fool brain of

mine. I once had friends — and many - none

What be those two shapes high over tre

sacred fountain, Taller than all the Muses, and bags

than all the mountain? On those two known peaks they sta.

ever spreading and heightenir Poet, that evergreen laurel is blasie

more than lightning! Look, in their deep double shadost

crown'd ones all disappearing! Sing like a bird and be happy, nor baie

for a deathless hearing! "Sounding for ever and ever?' pass o

the sight confuses These are Astronomy and Geology, tot

rible Muses!

like you.

III.

I love you more than when we married.

Hope! O yes, I hope, or fancy that, perhaps, Human forgiveness touches heaven, and

thence For you forgive me, you are sure of that Reflected, sends a light on the forgiven.

If the lips were touch'd with fire from

a pure Pierian altar, Tho' their music here be mortal neei i

singer greatly care? Other songs for other worlds! the

within him would not falter: Let the golden Iliad vanish, Homer box

is Homer there.

PARNASSUS.

Exegi monumentum ...
Quod non ..
Possit diruere ...

innumerabilis Annorum series et suga temporum. — HORACE.

BY AN EVOLUTIONIST. The Lord let the house of a brute to

soul of a man, And the man said, ' Am I your detar And the Lord — Not yet but make

as clean as you can, And then I will let you a better.'

As where earth's green stole into heaven's own hue,

Far — far -- away? What sound was dearest in his native

dells? The mellow lin-lan-lone of evening bells

Far — far -- away. What vague world-whisper, mystic pain

or joy, Thro' those three words would haunt him when a boy,

Far = far away? A whisper from his dawn of life? a

breath From some fair dawn beyond the doors of death

Far far — away? Far, far, how far? from o'er the gates of

Birth, The faint horizons, all the bounds of earth,

Far

- far -- away? What charın in words, a charm no words

could give? O dying words, can Music make you live

Far— far — away?

POLITICS.

If my body come from brutes, tho'

somewhat finer than their own, I am heir, and this my kingdom.

Shall the royal voice be mute? No, but if the rebel subject seek to drag

me from the throne, Hold the sceptre, Human Soul, and

rule thy Province of the brute.

II.

I have climb'd to the snows of Age, and

I gaze at a field in the Past, Where I sank with the body at times

in the sloughs of a low desire, But I hear no yelp of the beast, and the

Man is quiet at last As he stands on the heights of his life

with a glimpse of a height that is higher.

We move, the wheel must always move,

Nor always on the plain, And if we move to such a goal

As Wisdom hopes to gain,
Then you that drive, and know your Craft,

Will firmly hold the rein,
Nor lend an ear to random cries,

Or you may drive in vain,
For some cry •Quick’ and some cry

“Slow,' But, while the hills remain, Up hill • Too-slow' will need the whip,

Down bill ‘Too-quick,' the chain.

BEAUTIFUL CITY.

FAR - FAR AWAY.

(FOR MUSIC.) WHAT sight so lured him thro' the fields

BEAUTIFUL city, the centre and crater of

European confusion, O you with your passionate shriek for

the rights of an equal humanity,