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"Tell me first how our mother fares, And has she wept too much for me?" "White are her cheeks and white her hairs, But not from gentle tears for thee.”

"Tell me, where are our sisters gone?" "Alas, I left them weary and wan." "And tell me is the baby grown?" "Alas! he is almost a man.

"Cannot you break the gathering days, And let the light of death come through, Ere his feet stumble in the maze

Cross'd safely by so few, so few ?

"For like a crowd upon the sea That darkens till you find no shore, So was that face of life to me,

Until I sank for evermore;

"And like an army in the snow

My days went by, a treacherous train, Each smiling as he struck his blow,

Until I lay among them slain."

"Oh, brother, there was a path so clear!" "There might be, but I never sought." "Oh, brother, there was a sword so near!" "There might be, but I never fought."

"Yet sweep this needless gloom aside, For you are come to the gate at last!”

Then in despair that soul replied,

"The gate is fast, the gate is fast!” "I cannot move this mighty weight, I cannot find this golden key; But hosts of heaven around us wait,

And none has ever said 'No' to me.

"Sweet Saint, put by thy palm and scroll,
And come and undo the door for me!"
"Rest thee still, thou little fair soul,
It is not mine to keep the key."

"Kind Angel, strike these doors apart!
The air without is dark and cold."
"Rest thee still, thou little pure heart,

Not for my word will they unfold.”
Up all the shining heights he pray'd

For that poor Shadow in the cold! Still came the word, "Not ours to aid ; We cannot make the doors unfold." But that poor Shadow, still outside,

Wrung all the sacred air with pain ; And all the souls went up and cried Where never cry was heard in vain. No eye beheld the pitying Face,

The answer none might understand, But dimly through the silent space Was seen the stretching of a Hand.

Hobert Leighton

THE DRIED-UP FOUNTAIN OUTSIDE the village, by the public road, I know a dried-up fountain, overgrown With herbs, the haunt of legendary toad,

And grass, by Nature sown.

I know not where its trickling life was still'd; No living ears its babbling tongue has caught;

But often, as I pass, I see it fill'd

And running o'er with thought.

I see it as it was in days of old,

The blue-ey'd maiden stooping o'er its brim,

And smoothing in its glass her locks of gold, Lest she should meet with him.

She knows that he is near, yet I can see Her sweet confusion when she hears him come.

No tryst had they, though every evening he Carries her pitchers home.

The ancient beggar limps along the road At thirsty noon, and rests him by its brink;

The dusty pedlar lays aside his load,
And pauses there to drink.

And there the village children come to play,

When busy parents work in shop and field.

The swallows, too, find there the loamy clay When 'neath the eaves they build.

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WRITTEN IN EMERSON'S
ESSAYS

"O MONSTROUS, dead, unprofitable world, That thou canst hear, and hearing, hold thy way!

A voice oracular hath peal'd to-day,
To-day a hero's banner is unfurl'd;

Hast thou no lip for welcome ?" — So I said.

Man after man, the world smil'd and pass'd by;

A smile of wistful incredulity

As though one spake of life unto the dead

Scornful, and strange, and sorrowful, and full

Of bitter knowledge. Yet the will is free e;

Strong is the soul, and wise, and beauti

ful;

The seeds of god-like power are in us still; Gods are we, bards, saints, heroes, if we

will!

Dumb judges, answer, truth or mockery?

THE WORLD AND THE QUIETIST

"WHY, when the world's great mind
Hath finally inclin'd,
Why," you say, Critias, "be debating still?
Why, with these mournful rhymes
Learn'd in more languid climes,
Blame our activity

Who, with such passionate will,
Are what we mean to be ?"

Critias, long since, I know (For Fate decreed it so),

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With thy light skipping tricks, and thy girl's wiles."

He spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his taunts,

And he too drew his sword; at once they rush'd

Together, as two eagles on one prey Come rushing down together from the clouds,

One from the east, one from the west; their shields

Dash'd with a clang together, and a din Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters Make often in the forest's heart at morn, Of hewing axes, crashing trees - such blows Rustum and Sohrab on each other hail'd. And you would say that sun and stars took part

In that unnatural conflict; for a cloud Grew suddenly in Heaven, and dark'd the

sun

Over the fighters' heads; and a wind rose Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain,

And in a sandy whirlwind wrapp'd the pair.

In gloom they twain were wrapp'd, and they alone;

For both the on-looking hosts on either hand

Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was

pure,

And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream. But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes

And laboring breath; first Rustum struck the shield

Which Sohrab held stiff out; the steelspik'd spear

Rent the tough plates, but fail'd to reach the skin,

And Rustum pluck'd it back with angry

groan.

Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum's helm,

Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the crest

He shore away, and that proud horsehair plume,

Never till now defil'd, sank to the dust; And Rustum bow'd his head; but then the gloom

Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air, And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse,

Who stood at hand, utter'd a dreadful cry;

No horse's cry was that, most like the roar Of some pain'd desert-lion, who all day Has trail'd the hunter's javelin in his side, And comes at night to die upon the sand

The two hosts heard that cry, and quak'd for fear,

And Oxus curdled as it cross'd his stream. Sohrab heard, and quail'd not, but rush'd on,

But

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But the majestic river floated on, Out of the mist and hum of that low land, Into the frosty starlight, and there mov'd, Rejoicing, through the hush'd Chorasmian waste,

Under the solitary moon ;- he flow'd Right for the polar star, past Orgunjè, Brimming, and bright, and large; then sands begin

To hem his watery march, and dam his streams,

And split his currents; that for many a league

The shorn and parcell'd Oxus strains along Through beds of sand and matted rushy isles

Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had
In his high mountain-cradle in Pamere,
A foil'd circuitous wanderer - till at last
The long'd-for dash of waves is heard, and
wide

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Heap on the deck the logs, and build the pyre."

But when the Gods and Heroes heard, they brought

The wood to Balder's ship, and built a pile, Full the deck's breadth, and lofty; then the corpse

Of Balder on the highest top they laid, With Nanna on his right, and on his left Hoder, his brother, whom his own hand slew.

And they set jars of wine and oil to lean Against the bodies, and stuck torches near, Splinters of pine-wood, soak'd with turpentine;

And brought his arms and gold, and all his stuff,

And slew the dogs who at his table fed, And his horse, Balder's horse, whom most he lov'd,

And threw them on the pyre, and Odin

threw

A last choice gift thereon, his golden ring. The mast they fix'd, and hoisted up the sails,

Then they put fire to the wood; and Thor Set his stout shoulder hard against the

To

stern

push the ship through the thick sand;-sparks flew

From the deep trench she plough'd, so strong a God

Furrow'd it; and the water gurgled in. And the ship floated on the waves, and rock'd.

But in the hills a strong east-wind arose, And came down moaning to the sea; first squalls

Ran black o'er the sea's face, then steady rush'd

The breeze, and fill'd the sails, and blew the fire;

And wreath'd in smoke the ship stood out to sea.

Soon with a roaring rose the mighty fire, And the pile crackled; and between the logs

Sharp quivering tongues of flame shot out, and leap'd,

Curling and darting, higher, until they lick'd

The summit of the pile, the dead, the mast,

And ate the shrivelling sails; but still the ship

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Call her once and come away;
This way, this way !

"Mother dear, we cannot stay!

The wild white horses foam and fret."
Margaret! Margaret !

Come, dear children, come away down ;
Call no more!

One last look at the white-wall'd town,
And the little gray church on the windy
shore ;

Then come down!

She will not come though you call all day; Come away, come away!

Children dear, was it yesterday

We heard the sweet bells over the bay?
In the caverns where we lay,
Through the surf and through the swell,
The far-off sound of a silver bell?
Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep;
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam,
Where the salt weed sways in the stream,
Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round,
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground;
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,
Dry their mail and bask in the brine;
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye,
Round the world for ever and aye?
When did music come this way ?
Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, was it yesterday
(Call yet once) that she went away?
Once she sate with you and me,

On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea,
And the youngest sate on her knee.

She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended

it well,

When down swung the sound of a far-off

bell.

She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear green sea;

She said: "I must go, for my kinsfolk

pray

In the little gray church on the shore to

day.

"T will be Easter-time in the world-ah

me !

And I lose my poor soul, Merman! here

with thee."

I said: "Go up, dear heart, through the

waves;

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