THOUGHT.

O MESSENGER, art thou the king, or I?

Thou dalliest outside the palace gate Till on thine idle armor lie the late And heavy dews: the morn's bright, scornful eye

Reminds thee; then, in subtle mockery,

Thou smilest at the window where I wait,

Who bade thee ride for life. In empty state

My days go on, while false hours prophesy

Thy quick return; at last, in sad despair,

I cease to bid thee, leave thee free as air;

When lo, thou stand'st before me glad and fleet,

And lay'st undreamed-of treasures at my feet.

Ah! messenger, thy royal blood to buy,

I am too poor. Thou art the king, not I.

QUESTIONINGS.

H. H.

HATH this world, without me wrought,

Other substance than my thought?
Lives it by my sense alone,
Or by essence of its own,
Will its life, with mine begun,
Cease to be when that is done,
Or another consciousness
With the selfsame forms impress?

Doth yon fire-ball, poised in air, Hang by my permission there?

Are the clouds that wander by
But the offspring of mine eye,
Born with every glance I cast,
Perishing when that is past?
And those thousand, thousand eyes,
Scattered through the twinkling
skies,

Do they draw their life from mine,
Or, of their own beauty shine?

Now I close my eyes, my ears,
And creation disappears;
Yet if I but speak the word,
All creation is restored.
Or—more wonderful — within,
New creations do begin;

Hues more bright and forms more rare,

Than reality doth wear,

Flash across my inward sense,
Born of the mind's omnipotence.

Soul! that all informest, say!
Shall these glories pass away?
Will those planets cease to blaze
When these eyes no longer gaze?
And the life of things be o'er,
When these pulses beat no more?

Thought! that in me works and lives,

Life to all things living gives, -
Art thou not thyself, perchance,
But the universe in trance?
A reflection inly flung

By that world thou fanciedst sprung
From thyself, thyself a dream,
Of the world's thinking thou the
theme?

Be it thus, or be thy birth
From a source above the earth,
Be thou matter, be thou mind,
In thee alone myself I find,
And through thee alone, for me,