484

Among the numerable-innumerable
Sun, sun, and sun, thro' finite-infinite space
In finite-infinite Time-
our mortal veil
And shatter'd phantom of that infinite One,
Who made thee unconceivably Thyself
Out of His whole World-self and all in
all-

Live thou! and of the grain and husk, the grape

And ivy-berry, choose; and still depart From death to death thro' life and life, and find

Nearer and ever nearer Him, who wrought
Not matter, nor the finite-infinite,
But this main-miracle, that thou art thou,
With power on thine own act and on the
world.

First printed in Lord Lyttleton's Memoir (1869) prefixed to Brookfield's 'Sermons,' and afterwards in the Ballads' volume. Brookfield was one of the poet's college friends.

BROOKS, for they call'd you so that knew you best,

Old Brooks, who loved so well to mouth my rhymes,

How oft we two have heard Saint Mary's chimes!

How oft the Cantab supper, host and guest, Would echo helpless laughter to your jest! How oft with him we paced that walk of limes,

Him, the lost light of those dawn-golden times,

Who loved you well! Now both are gone

to rest.

flung

Her fringed ægis, and around his head
The glorious goddess wreath'd a golden
cloud,

And from it lighted an all-shining flame.
As when a smoke from a city goes to heaven
Far off from out an island girt by foes,
All day the men contend in grievous war
From their own city, but with set of sun
Their fires flame thickly, and aloft the glare
Flies streaming, if perchance the neighbors
round

May see, and sail to help them in the war;
So from his head the splendor went to hea-

For like the clear voice when a trumpet shrills,

Blown by the fierce beleaguerers of a town,
So rang the clear voice of Æakidês;
And when the brazen cry of Æakidês
Was heard among the Trojans, all their
hearts

Were troubled, and the full-maned horses whirl'd

The chariots backward, knowing griefs at hand;

And sheer-astounded were the charioteers To see the dread, unweariable fire

That always o'er the great Peleion's head Burn'd, for the bright-eyed goddess made it burn.

Thrice from the dyke he sent his mighty shout,

Thrice backward reel'd the Trojans and allies;

And there and then twelve of their noblest died

Among their spears and chariots.

Written in 1877, and included in the 'Ballads' volume.

NOT here! the white North has thy bones; and thou, Heroic sailor-soul,

Art passing on thine happier voyage now Toward no earthly pole.