Ulysses' chances re-create ?
When, heralding life's every phase,
There glowed a goddess-veiling haze,
A plenteous, forewarning grace,
Like that more tender dawn that flies
Before the full moon's ample rise?
Methinks thy parting glory shines
Through yonder grove of singing pines;
At that elm-vista's end I trace
Dimly thy sad leave-taking face,
Eurydice! Eurydice !

The tremulous leaves repeat to me
Eurydice! Eurydice !

No gloomier Orcus swallows thee
Than the unclouded sunset's glow;
Thine is at least Elysian woe;
Thou hast Good's natural decay,
And fadest like a star away
Into an atmosphere whose shine
With fuller day o'ermasters thine,
Entering defeat as 't were a shrine;
For us,
we turn life's diary o'er
To find but one word, - Nevermore.

SHE CAME AND WENT.

As a twig trembles, which a bird
Lights on to sing, then leaves unbent,
So is my memory thrilled and stirred ;-
I only know she came and went.

As clasps some lake, by gusts unriven,

The blue dome's measureless content, So my soul held that moment's heaven;I only know she came and went.

As, at one bound, our swift spring heaps
The orchards full of bloom and scent,
So clove her May my wintry sleeps ;
I only know she came and went.

An angel stood and met my gaze,
Through the low doorway of my tent;
The tent is struck, the vision stays;
I only know she came and went.

O, when the room grows slowly dim,
And life's last oil is nearly spent,
One gush of light these eyes will brim,
Only to think she came and went.

THE CHANGELING.

I HAD a little daughter,

And she was given to me To lead me gently backward

To the Heavenly Father's knee,

That I, by the force of nature,

Might in some dim wise divine
The depth of his infinite patience
To this wayward soul of mine.

I know not how others saw her,
But to me she was wholly fair,
And the light of the heaven she came
from

Still lingered and gleamed in her hair; For it was as wavy and golden,

And as many changes took,
As the shadows of sun-gilt ripples
On the yellow bed of a brook.

To what can I liken her smiling
Upon me, her kneeling lover,
How it leaped from her lips to her eye-
lids,

And dimpled her wholly over,
Till her outstretched hands smiled also,
And I almost seemed to see
The very heart of her mother

Sending sun through her veins to me !

She had been with us scarce a twelvemonth,

And it hardly seemed a day, When a troop of wandering angels Stole my little daughter away; Or perhaps those heavenly Zingari

But loosed the hampering strings, And when they had opened her cagedoor,

My little bird used her wings.

But they left in her stead a changeling, That seems like her bud in full blossom, A little angel child,

And smiles as she never smiled: When I wake in the morning, I see it Where she always used to lie, And I feel as weak as a violet

Alone 'neath the awful sky.

As weak, yet as trustful also;

For the whole year long I see All the wonders of faithful Nature Still worked for the love of me; Winds wander, and dews drip earthward, Rain falls, suns rise and set, Earth whirls, and all but to prosper A poor little violet.

This child is not mine as the first was,

I cannot sing it to rest,

I cannot lift it up fatherly

And bliss it upon my breast;

and their woe,

Their grinding centuries, what Muse had those?

Though hall and palace had nor eyes

With eye averted, and an anguished frown,

Loathingly glides the Muse through scenes of strife,

Where, like the heart of Vengeance up and down,

Throbs in its framework the bloodmuffled knife;

Slow are the steps of Freedom, but her feet

Turn never backward: hers no bloody glare;

Her light is calm, and innocent, and sweet,

And where it enters there is no despair:

Not first on palace and cathedral spire Quivers and gleams that unconsuming fire;

While these stand black against her morning skies,

The peasant sees it leap from peak to peak

Along his hills; the craftsman's burn

ing eyes

Own with cool tears its influence mother

futile snare,

That swift, convicting glow all round him ran;

'T was close beside him there, Sunrise whose Memnon is the soul of

Is

divine

Scattered thy frail endeavor, like poor last year's leaves, whirled thee and thine

Into the Dark forever!

VII.

here no triumph? Nay, what though

yellow blood of Trade meanwhile should pour

snow,

The rattle of thy shield at Marathon
I loved thee, Freedom; as a boy

Did with a Grecian joy

Through all my pulses run;

But I have learned to love thee now Without the helm upon thy gleaming brow,

A maiden mild and undefiled Like her who bore the world's redeeming child;

And surely never did thine altars
glance

With purer fires than now in France;
While, in their clear white flashes,

Wrong's shadow, backward cast,
Waves cowering o'er the ashes

Of the dead, blaspheming Past, O'er the shapes of fallen giants, His own unburied brood, Whose dead hands clench defiance

At the overpowering Good : And down the happy future runs a flood Of prophesying light;

It shows an Earth no longer stained with blood,

Blossom and fruit where now we see the bud

Of Brotherhood and Right.

ANTI-APIS.

PRAISEST Law, friend? We, too, love it much as they that love it best;

'T is the deep, august foundation, where on Peace and Justice rest;