Night-time and day-time, in dreams II would not die without you at my side, Figure that moves like a song through the even, Features lit up by a reflex of heaven; Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our mother, Where shadow and sunshine are chas ing each other; Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and simple, Planting in each rosy cheek a sweet dimple; love, THE MUSIC-LESSON OF CONFUCIUS. None knew so well as great Confucius Three years he mourned alone beside As the Old Custom bade, nor did he miss O, thanks to the Saviour, that even thy, A single detail of the dark old forms seeming Is left to the exile to brighten his dreaming. You have been glad when you knew I was gladdened; Dear, are you sad now to hear I am saddened? Required of the bereaved, for he had made Himself a model for all living men: Now when the years of mourning with Were at an end, Confucius came forth Our hearts ever answer in tune and in And wandered as of old with other men, time, love, As octave to octave, and rhyme unto rhyme, love: I cannot weep but your tears will be flowing, You cannot smile but my cheek will be glowing; Giving his counsel unto many kings; But still the hand of grief was on his heart, And his dark hue set forth his darkened hours. To drive away these sorrows from his soul, And of the melody whose key is God. Now I will travel to the land of Kin, And know this sage of music, great Siang, And learn the secret lore which hides within All sweet well-ordered sounds." He went his way, Nor rested till he stood before the man. Thus spoke Siang unto Confucius: Thou who hast studied deeply the KouaThe eight great symbols of created things Knowest the sacred power of the line Which when unbroken flies to all the worlds CHARLES G. LELAND. And when Siang would teach him more, he said: "Not yet, my master, I would seize the thought, The subtle thought which hides within the tune." To which the master answered: "It is well. Take five days more!" And when the time was passed Unto Siang thus spoke Confucius: "I do begin to see, yet what I see Is very dim. I am as one who looks And nothing sees except a luminous cloud: Give me but five more days, and at the end If I have not attained the great idea I will leave music as beyond my power." And on the fifteenth day Confucius rose And stood before Siang, and cried aloud : "The mist which shadowed me is blown away, I am as one who stands upon a cliff When he composed that air. I speak to him, I hear him clearly answer me again; And more than that, I see his very form: A man of middle stature, with a hue Half blended with the dark and with the fair; His features long, and large sweet eyes which beam With great benevolence, -a noble face! Then good Siang lay down upon the dust, And said: "Thou art my master. Even thus The ancient legend, known to none but me, Describes our first great sire. And thou hast seen 333 That which I never yet myself beheld, Though I have played the sacred song for years, Striving with all my soul to penetrate Its mystery unto the master's form, Whilst thou hast reached it at a single bound:: Henceforth the gods alone can teach thee tune." MINE OWN. AND O, the longing, burning eyes! Which waves around me, night and day, And O, the step, half dreamt, half heard ! O, art thou Sylph, or truly Self, - "O, some do call me Laughter, love; "And some do call me Wantonness, And some do call me Play" :"O, they might call thee what they would If thou wert mine alway!" "And some do call me Sorrow, love, And some do call me Tears, And some there be who name me Hope, And some that name me Fears. "And some do call me Gentle Heart, And some Forgetfulness" :--"And if thou com'st as one or all, Thou comest but to bless !" “And some do call me Life, sweetheart, She twined her white arms round his neck: The tears fell down like rain. "And if I live or if I die, We'll never part again." Pure as snow on Himalayan ranges, Heaven-descended, soon to heaven withdrawn, Ever dwells the lesser in the greater; Than cold praise of wordy Pharisees. UNKNOWN. THE FISHERMAN'S FUNERAL UP on the breezy headland the fisherman's grave they made, Where, over the daisies and clover bells, the birchen branches swayed; Above us the lark was singing in the cloudless skies of June, Fairer than the moon-flower of the And under the cliffs the billows were chanting their ceaseless tune: For the creamy line was curving along the hollow shore, Where the dear old tides were flowing that he would ride no more. The dirge of the wave, the note of the bird, and the priest's low tone were blent In the breeze that blew from the moor land, all laden with country scent; But never a thought of the new-mown hay tossing on sunny plains, Or of lilies deep in the wild-wood, or roses gemming the lanes, Woke in the hearts of the stern bronzed men who gathered around the How boldly he steered the coble across the foaming bar, When the sky was black to the eastward and the breakers white on the Scar! How his keen eye caught the squall ahead, how his strong hand furled the sail, As we drove o'er the angry waters before the raging gale! How cheery he kept all the long dark night; and never a parson spoke Good words, like those he said to us, when at last the morning broke! So thought the dead man's comrades, as silent and sad they stood, While the prayer was prayed, the blessing said, and the dull earth struck the wood; UNKNOWN. eyes, 335 That here once looked on glowing skies, Where summer smiled; And the widow's sob and the orphan's | Now changed the scene and changed the wail jarred through the joyous air; How could the light wind o'er the sea, blow on so fresh and fair? How could the gay waves laugh and leap, landward o'er sand and stone, While he, who knew and loved them all lay lapped in clay alone? But for long, when to the beetling heights the snow-tipped billows roll, When the cod, and skate, and dogfish dart around the herring shoal; When gear is sorted, and sails are set, and the merry breezes blow, And away to the deep sea-harvest the stalwart reapers go, A kindly sigh, and a hearty word, they will give to him who lies Where the clover springs, and the heather blooms, beneath the northern skies. UNKNOWN. ON RECROSSING THE ROCKY MOUN- LONG years ago I wandered here, A score of horsemen here we rode, These scenes in glowing colors drest, The whispering woods and fragrant breeze And glistening crag in sunlit sky, My path was o'er the prairie wide, The rose that waved in morning air, Gave to my heart its ruddiest hue, These riven trees, this wind-swept plain Now show the winter's dread domain, Its fury wild. The rocks rise black from storm-packed snow, All checked the river's pleasant flow, The buoyant hopes and busy life The world's rude contact killed the rose, Backward, amidst the twilight glow Some lingering spots yet brightly show On hard roads won, Where still some grand peaks mark the way Touched by the light of parting day And memory's sun. But here thick clouds the mountains hide, The dim horizon bleak and wide No pathway shows, And rising gusts, and darkening sky, Tell of "the night that cometh," nigh, The brief day's close. UNKNOWN. JULY DAWNING. WE left the city, street and square, With lamplights glimmering through and through, And turned us toward the suburb, where Full from the east-the fresh wind blew. One cloud stood overhead the sun, A glorious trail of dome and spire, The last star flickered, and was gone; The first lark led the matin choir. |