Imatges de pÓgina

with the growths of ancient forests. His mind was still immature when he left us, for it was one of those plenteous urns that filter its waters slowly, but it was a mind capable of severe training, and great leadings.


WHAT boots it, thy virtue?
What profit thy parts?
The one thing thou lackest
Is the art of all arts.

The only credentials,
Passport to success,
Opens castle and parlour, -
Address, man, Address.

The maiden in danger
Was saved by the swain:
His stout arm restored her
To her palace again;

The maid would reward him,

Gay company come,
They laugh, she laughs with them,
He is moonstruck and dumb.

This clenches the bargain;
Sails out of the bay;
Gets the vote in the senate,
Spite of Webster and Clay;

Has for genius no mercy,
For speeches no heed;
It lurks in the eyebeam,
It leaps to its deed;

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Give me an amulet

That keeps intelligence with you,
Red when you love, and rosier red,
And when you love not, pale and blue.

Alas, that neither bonds nor vows
Can certify possession;

Torments me still the fear that love
Died in its last expression.



"SAW'ST thou a castle fair?

Yon castle by the sea?
Golden and rosy, there,

The clouds float gorgeously.

And fain it would descend
Into the wave below:

And fain it would soar and blend

With the evening's crimson glow."

Yon castle I have viewed,

Yon castle by the sea :
The moon above it stood,

And the mists hung heavily.

"The wind and the heaving sea,

Sounded they fresh and strong? From the hall came notes of glee

Harping and festive song?"

The winds and the waters all
Rested in slumber deep,

And I heard from the moaning hall
Music that made me weep.

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Of the great waves of God that through us swell,
Revealing what no tongue could ever teach;
Break not the omnipotent calm, even by a prayer,
Filled with Infinite, seek no lesser boon:
But with these pines, and with the all-loving moon,
Asking naught, yield thee to the Only Fair;
So shall these moments so divine and rare,
These passing moments of the soul's high noon,
Be of thy day the first pale blush of morn;
Clad in white raiment of God's newly born,
Thyself shalt see when the great world is made
That flows forever forth from Love unstayed.


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Behold the vast array of tents

For me to sentinel to night;

An instant, this magnificence

Has faded out of sight.

The tents are struck the warriors' march Subsides along the stately arch.

I saw the sword their leader drew

Beneath the banner's crimson edge; 'T was lightning to the common view, To me, a solemn pledge,

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