To thee, the guardian of my youthful days,
Fain would I pay some tribute of respect;
And though it falls far short of thy desert,
The will to do thee justice thou'lt accept.

As I recall the days of former years,
Thy many acts of kindness bring to mind,
Tears fill my eyes, in thee I've ever found
A friend most faithful, uniformly kind.

Thou art the earliest friend of mine that's left -
The rest have long departed, every one;
They've long years since the debt of nature paid,
But thou remainest still, and thou alone.

The snow of four score winters thou has seen,
And life's long pilgrimage may soon be o'er;
Respected, loved, and happy hast thou been,
With ample means to relieve the suffering poor,
Thou ever hadst the will, as well as power...

"I beseech Euodias, and beseech Syntyche, that they be of the same mind in the Lord" -- Phil. iv. 2,

EUODIAS.

But if Paul heard her tattlings, I am sure
He never would expect me to endure.
There is a something in her very face
Antagonistic to the work of grace.
And even when I would speak graciously
Somehow, Syntyche's manner ruffles me.

SYNTYCHE.

No, not for worlds! Euodias has no mind;
So slow she is, so spiritually blind.
Her tongue is quite unbridled, yet she says
She grieves to see my aggravating ways
Ah, no one but myself knows perfectly
How odious Euodias can be!

EUODIAS.

Yet, "in the Lord." Ah, that's another thing!

SYNTYCHE.

Yet, "in the Lord." That alters it in- deed.

EUODIAS.
...

"Ambition is but avarice on stilts, and masked."

"Great men lose somewhat of their greatness by being near us; ordinary men gain much."

"People, like nails, lose their effectiveness when they lose direction and begin to bend."

"Great men always pay deference to greater."

"Study is the bane of childhood, the oil of youth, the indulgence of adulthood, and a restorative in old age."

In the fair days when God
By man as godlike trod,
And each alike was Greek, alike was free,
God’s lightning spared, they said,
Alone the happier head
Whose laurels screened it; fruitless grace for thee,
To whom the high gods gave of right
Their thunders and their laurels and their light.

Sunbeams and bays before
Our master’s servants wore,
For these Apollo left in all men’s lands;
But far from these ere now
And watched with jealous brow
Lay the blind lightnings shut between God’s hands,
And only loosed on slaves and kings
The terror of the tempest of their wings.

Born in those younger years
That shone with storms of spears
And shook in the wind blown from a dead world’s pyre,
When by her back-blown hair
Napoleon caught the fair<...

It is the hither side, O Hope,
And afternoon; our shadows slope
Backward along the mountain cope.

The early morning was so sweet,
We seemed to climb with winged feet,
Like moving vapors fine and fleet,

Not more elastic poised and swung
Harebell or yellow adder's tongue,
Nor blither any bird that sung.

Thy light foot bent not any stem
Of frailest plant, whose diadem
In passing kissed thy garment's hem.

O Hope! so near me and so bright,
Thy foot above me on the height,
I might not touch thy garments white.

Thy lifted face, so fair, so rapt,
Like sunshine rolled and overlapped
Cliff, slope, and tall peak thunder-capped.

Thy voice to me like silver brooks
Down dropped from secret mountain nooks,
Still drew me...

I
Not from without us, only from within,
Comes or can ever come upon us light
Whereby the soul keeps ever truth in sight.
No truth, no strength, no comfort man may win,
No grace for guidance, no release from sin,
Save of his own soul's giving. Deep and bright
As fire enkindled in the core of night
Burns in the soul where once its fire has been
The light that leads and quickens thought, inspired
To doubt and trust and conquer. So he said
Whom Sidney, flower of England, lordliest head
Of all we love, loved: but the fates required
A sacrifice to hate and hell, ere fame
Should set with his in heaven Giordano's name.

II
Cover thine eyes and weep, O child of hell,
Grey spouse of Satan, Church of name abhorred.
Weep, withered harlot, with thy weeping ...

The eve was a burning copper,
The night was a boundless black
Where wells of the lightning crumbled
And boiled with blazing rack,
When I came to the coal-black castle
With the wild rain on my back.

Thrice under its goblin towers,
Where the causey of rock was laid,
Thrice, there at its spider portal,
My scornful bugle brayed,
But never a warder questioned, -
An owl's was the answer made.

When the heaven above was blistered
One scald of blinding storm,
And the blackness clanged like a cavern
Of iron where demons swarm,
I rode in the court of the castle
With the shield upon my arm.

My sword unsheathed and certain
Of the visor of my casque,
My steel steps challenged the donjon
My gauntlet should unmask;
But never a k...

Captive! Is there a hell to him like this?
A taunt more galling than the Huron's hiss?
He - proud and scornful, he - who laughed at law,
He - scion of the deadly Iroquois,
He - the bloodthirsty, he - the Mohawk chief,
He - who despises pain and sneers at grief,
Here in the hated Huron's vicious clutch,
That even captive he disdains to touch!

Captive! But never conquered; Mohawk brave
Stoops not to be to any man a slave;
Least, to the puny tribe his soul abhors,
The tribe whose wigwams sprinkle Simcoe's shores.
With scowling brow he stands and courage high,
Watching with haughty and defiant eye
His captors, as they council o'er his fate,
Or strive his boldness to intimidate.
Then fling they unto him the choice;

            "Wilt t...

The debt is paid,
The verdict said,
The Furies laid,
The plague is stayed.
All fortunes made;
Turn the key and bolt the door,
Sweet is death forevermore.
Nor haughty hope, nor swart chagrin,
Nor murdering hate, can enter in.
All is now secure and fast;
Not the gods can shake the Past;
Flies-to the adamantine door
Bolted down forevermore.
None can reënter there,--
No thief so politic,
No Satan with a royal trick
Steal in by window, chink, or hole,
To bind or unbind, add what lacked,
Insert a leaf, or forge a name,
New-face or finish what is packed,
Alter or mend eternal Fact.

From a rude isle, his ruder lineage came.
The spark, that, from a suburb hovel's hearth
Ascending, wraps some capital in flame,
Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth.
And for the soul that bade him waste the earth,
The sable land-flood from some swamp obscure,
That poisons the glad husband-field with dearth,
And by destruction bids its fame endure,
Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and impure.

Before that Leader strode a shadowy form,
Her limbs like mist, her torch like meteor shew'd;
With which she beckon'd him through fight and storm,
And all he crush'd that cross'd his desp'rate road,
Nor thought, nor fear'd, nor look'd on what he trode;
Realms could not glut his pride, blood not slake,
So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad,
It was Ambitio...

Out of the gulf into the glory,
    Father, my soul cries out to be lifted.
Dark is the woof of my dismal story,
    Thorough thy sun-warp stormily drifted!--
Out of the gulf into the glory,
Lift me, and save my story.

I have done many things merely shameful;
    I am a man ashamed, my father!
My life is ashamed and broken and blameful--
    The broken and blameful, oh, cleanse and gather!
Heartily shame me, Lord, of the shameful!
To my judge I flee with my blameful.

Saviour, at peace in thy perfect purity,
    Think what it is, not to be pure!
Strong in thy love's essential security,
    Think upon those who are never secure.
Full fill my soul with the light of thy purity:
Fold me in love's security.

O Father, O Brother, my heart i...

("Mes jeunes cavaliers.")

[HERNANI, Act I., March, 1830.]


What business brings you here, young cavaliers?
Men like the Cid, the knights of bygone years,
Rode out the battle of the weak to wage,
Protecting beauty and revering age.
Their armor sat on them, strong men as true,
Much lighter than your velvet rests on you.
Not in a lady's room by stealth they knelt;
In church, by day, they spoke the love they felt.
They kept their houses' honor bright from rust,
They told no secret, and betrayed no trust;
And if a wife they wanted, bold and gay,
With lance, or axe, or falchion, and by day,
Bravely they won and wore her. As for those
Who slip through streets when honest men repose,
With eyes turned to the ground, and in night's shade
The...

A painter, high in worldy fame,
Was sought to reproduce by art
A likeness of the man whose name
Sent darts of anguish through the heart
Of mighty monarchs in his day;
For he by arms subdued the world.
Kingdoms and empires owned his sway
And bowed beneath his flag unfurled.

But Alexander bore a scar,
Deep marked upon his royal brow;
To paint him thus would greatly mar
The monarch's beauty; as a slough
Would mar the beauty of a lawn,
Where queenly feet are wont to tread;
Or like the cloud at early dawn,
Which hides some glory 'neath its spread.

To leave it out would not be true,
For Alexander bore the scar;
The painter this resolved to do,
Which would be true, yet would not mar:
To paint the monarch's head reclined,
With his ...

The, Gods that are wiser than Learning
But kinder than Life have made sure
No mortal may boast in the morning
That even will find him secure.
With naught for fresh faith or new trial,
With little unsoiled or unsold,
Can the shadow go back on the dial,
Or a new world be given for the old?
But he knows not that time shall awaken,
As he knows not what tide shall lay bare,
The heart of a man to be taken,
Taken and changed unaware.

He shall see as he tenders his vows
The far, guarded City arise,
The power of the North 'twixt Her brows,
The steel of the North in Her eyes;
The sheer hosts of Heaven above,
The grey warlock Ocean beside;
And shall feel the full centuries move
To Her purpose and pride.

Though a stranger shall he understan...

"They run! they run!" - "Who run?"    Not they
Who faced that decimating fire
As coolly as if human ire
    Were rooted from their hearts;
They run, while he who led the way
So bravely on that glorious day,
Burns for one word with keen desire
    Ere waning life departs!

"They run! they run!" - "Who run?" he cried,
As swiftly to his pallid brow,
Like crimson sunlight upon snow,
    The anxious blood returned;
"The French! the French!" a voice replied,
When quickly paled life's ebbing tide,
And though his words were weak and low
    His eye with valour burned.

"Thank God!    I die in peace," he said;
And calmly yielding up his breath,
There trod the shadowy realms of death
    A good man and a brave;
Through all the...

Well-nigh two thousand years hath Israel
Suffered the scorn of man for love of God;
Endured the outlaw's ban, the yoke, the rod,
With perfect patience. Empires rose and fell,
Around him Nebo was adored and Bel;
Edom was drunk with victory, and trod
On his high places, while the sacred sod
Was desecrated by the infidel.
His faith proved steadfast, without breach or flaw,
But now the last renouncement is required.
His truth prevails, his God is God, his Law
Is found the wisdom most to be desired.
Not his the glory! He, maligned, misknown,
Bows his meek head, and says, "Thy will be done!"

He stood up in the house to speak,
    With calm unruffled brow,
And never were his burning words
    More eloquent than now

Fresh from the greatest victory
    That mortal man can win
The triumph against fearful odds.
Over besetting sin

'Twas this gave to his eloquence
    That thrilling trumpet tone
Moving all hearts with those bright thoughts
    Vibrating through his own

Thoughts strong, and wise, and statesmanlike,
    Warm with the love of Right
That gave his wit its keenest edge,
    His words their greatest might

He little thought his last speech closed,
    That his career was o'er,
That those who hung upon his words
    Should hear his voice no more.

He walked home tranquilly and slow,
    Secure...

[1]

No pond nor pool within his haunt
But paid a certain cormorant
Its contribution from its fishes,
And stock'd his kitchen with good dishes.
Yet, when old age the bird had chill'd,
His kitchen was less amply fill'd.
All cormorants, however grey,
Must die, or for themselves purvey.
But ours had now become so blind,
His finny prey he could not find;
And, having neither hook nor net,
His appetite was poorly met.
What hope, with famine thus infested?
Necessity, whom history mentions,
A famous mother of inventions,
The following stratagem suggested:
He found upon the water's brink
A crab, to which said he, 'My friend,
A weighty errand let me send:
Go quicker than a wink -
Down to the fishes sink,
And tell them they a...