Decked like an altai before them, there stood the green earth,, and above it Closed was the Teacher s task, and with heaven in their hearts and their faces, Up rose the children all, and each bowed him, weeping full sorely, Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but all of them pressed he MISCELLANEOUS. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow; He goes on Sunday to the church, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought! ENDYMION. THE rising moon has hid the stars; Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green, With shadows brown between. And silver white the river gleams, As if Diana, in her dreams, Had dropt her silver bow Upon the meadows low. On such a tranquil night as this, She woke Endymion with a kiss, When, sleeping in the grove, He dreamed not of her love. Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, Love gives itself, but is not bought; Nor voice, nor sound betrays Its deep, impassioned gaze. It comes, the beautiful, the free, The crown of all humanity, In silence and alone To seek the elected one. It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep, O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! Are fraught with fear and pain, No one is so accursed by fate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds, -as if with unseen wings, "Where hast thou stayed so long!" The brown is from the mother's hair, IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY. No hay pájaros en los nidos de antan THE Sun is bright, - the air is clear It seems an outlet from the sky, Where waiting till the west-wind blows, The freighted clouds at anchor lie. All things are new;-the buds, the leaves, That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, And even the nest beneath the eaves; There are no birds in last year's nest 1 All things rejoice in youth and love, The fulness of their first delight! And learn from the soft heavens above The melting tenderness of night. Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay; Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, For O, it is not always May! Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, To some good angel leave the rest; For Time will teach thee soon the truth, There are no birds in last year's nest! THE RAINY DAY. THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary: GOD'S-ACRE. I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just; It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown The seed that they had garnered in their hearts, Their bread of life, alas! no more their own. Into its furrows shall we all be cast, In the sure faith, that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, In the fair gardens of that second birth; And each bright blossom mingle its perfume With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth. With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, And spread the furrow for the seed TO THE RIVER CHARLES. RIVER! that in silence windest Through the meadows, bright and free, Till at length thy rest thou findest I have watched thy current glide, Nor because thy waves of blue Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, And thy waters disappear, Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, And have made thy margin dear. More than this;-thy name reminds me Of three friends, all true and tried; And that name, like magic, binds me Closer, closer to thy side. Friends my soul with joy remembers ! How like quivering flames they start, When I fan the living embers On the hearth-stone of my heart! 'Tis for this, thou Silent River! That my spirit leans to thee: Thou hast been a generous giver, Take this idle song from me. BLIND BARTIMEUS. BLIND Bartimeus at the gates Of Jerichc in darkness waits; He hears the crowd;- he hears a breath Say, "It is Christ of Nazareth !" The thronging multitudes increase; Θάρσει, ἔγειραι, φωνεί σε ! Then saith the Christ, as silent stands The crowd, "What wilt thou at my hands?" And he replies, "O give me light! Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see, THE GOBLET OF LIFE. FILLED is Life's goblet to the brim; And though my eyes with tears are dim, I see its sparkling bubbles swim, And chant a melancholy hymn With solemn voice and slow. No purple flowers,-no garlands green, Conceal the goblet's shade or sheen, Nor maddening draughts of Hippocrene, Like gleams of sunshine, flash between Thick leaves of mistletoe. This goblet, wrought with curious art, Is filled with waters, that upstart, When the deep fountains of the heart, By strong convulsions rent apart, Are running all to waste. And as it mantling passes round, Above the lowly plants it towers, And in an earlier age than ours It gave new strength, and fearless mood; Then in Life's goblet freely press, New light and strength they give! He has not learned to live. The prayer of Ajax was for light; Through all that dark and desperate fight, The blackness of that noonday night, Standing, with reluctant feet, Gazing, with a timid glance, Deep and still, that gliding stream Then why pause with indecision, Seest thou shadows sailing by, O, thou child of many prayers! Like the swell of some sweet tune, Birds and blossoms many-numbered; - bered. Gather, then, each flower that grows, Bear a lily in thy hand; Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, O, that dew, like balm, shall steal EXCELSIOR. THE shades of night were falling fast, His brow was sad; his eye beneath In happy homes he saw the light Above, the spectral glaciers shone, "Try not the Pass!" the old man said; "Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide !" And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior! "O stay," the maiden said, "and rest "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche !" At break of day, as heavenward A traveller, by the faithful hound, There in the twilight cold and gray, |