Ulysses' chances re-create ?

| That I, by the force of nature,
When, heralding life's every phase, Might in some dim wise divine
There glowed a goddess-veiling haze, The depth of his infinite patience
A plenteous, forewarning grace,

To this wayward soul of mine.
Like that more tender dawn that flies
Before the full moon's ample rise ?

I know not how others saw her,
Methinks thy parting glory shines

But to'me she was wholly fair, Through yonder grove of singing pines ; And the light of the heaven she came At that elm-vista's end I trace

from Dimly thy sad leave-taking face,

Still lingered and gleamed in her hair; Eurydice ? Eurydice!

For it was as wavy and golden, The tremulous leaves repeat to me

And as many changes took, Eurydice ! Eurydice !

As the shadows of sun-gilt ripples No gloomier Orcus swallows thee

On the yellow bed of a brook.
Than the unclouded sunset's glow;

To what can I liken her smiling
Thine is at least Elysian woe;
Thou hast Good's natural decay,

Upon me, her kneeling lover,
And fadest like a star away

How it leaped from her lips to her eyeInto an atmosphere whose shine

lids, With fuller day o'ermasters thine,

And dimpled her wholly over,

Till her outstretched hands smiled also, Entering defeat as 't were a shrine; For us, we turn life's diary o'er

And I almost seemed to see To find but one word, - Nevermore.

The very heart of her mother

Sending sun through her veins to me! SHE CAME AND WENT. She had been with us scarce a twelve

month, As a twig trembles, which a bird

And it hardly seemed a day,
Lights on to sing, then leaves unbent, When a troop of wandering angels
So is my memory thrilled and stirred; — Stole my little daughter away;
I only know she came and went. Or perhaps those heavenly Zingari

But loosed the hampering strings,
As clasps some lake, by gusts unriven, And when they had opened her cage-

The blue dome's measureless content,
So my soul held that moment's heaven;- | My little bird used her wings.
I only know she came and went.

But they left in her stead a changeling, As, at one bound, our swift spring heaps

A little angel child, The orchards full of bloom and scent, That seems like her bud in full blossom, So clove her May my wintry sleeps ;

And smiles as she never smiled : I only know she came and went.

When I wake in the morning, I see it An angel stood and met my gaze,

Where she always used to lie, Through the low doorway of my tent;

And I feel as weak as a violet The tent is struck, the vision stays ;

Alone 'neath the awful sky. I only know she came and went.

As weak, yet as trustful also; 0, when the room grows slowly dim,

For the whole year long I see And life's last oil is nearly spent,

All the wonders of faithful Nature One gush of light these eyes will brim,

Still worked for the love of me; Only to think she came and went.

Winds wander, and dews drip earthward,

Rain falls, suns rise and set,

Earth whirls, and all but to prosper THE CHANGELING.

A poor little violet. I HAD a little daughter,

This child is not mine as the first was, And she was given to me

I cannot sing it to rest,
To lead me gently backward

I cannot lift it up fatherly
To the Heavenly Father's knee, | And bliss it upon my breast;

Yet it lies in my little one's cradle Snatch back the rudder of his undis. And sits in my little one's chair,

mantled fate, And the light of the heaven she's gone to And in himself be ruler, church, and Transfigures its golden hair.


Cast leaves and feathers rot in last THE PIONEER.

year's nest,

The winged brood, flown thence, What man would live coffined with new dwellings plan; brick and stone,

The serf of his own Past is not a Imprisoned from the healing touch of man; air,

To change and change is life, to move And cramped with selfish landmarks and never rest; everywhere,

Not what we are, but what we hope, When all before him stretches, furrow

is best. less and lone, The unmapped prairie none can fence The wild, free woods make no man or own?

halt or blind;

Cities rob men of eyes and hands What man would read and read the and feet, selfsame faces,

Patching one whole of many incomAnd, like the marbles which the

plete; windmill grinds,

The general preys upon the individual Rub smooth forever with the same mind, smooth minds,

And each alone is helpless as the wind. This year retracing last year's, every year's, dull traces,

Each man is some man's servant; When there are woods and un-pen

every soul folded spaces ?

Is by some other's presence quite

discrowned; What man o'er one old thought would Each owes the next through all the pore and pore,

imperfect round, Shut like a book between its covers Yet not with mutual help; each man is thin

his own goal, For every fool to leave his dog's- | And the whole earth must stop to pay ears in,

him toll. When solitude is his, and God forevermore,

Here, life the undiminished man deJust for the opening of a paltry door? mands; What man would watch life's oozy

New faculties stretch out to meet

new wants; element

What Nature asks, that Nature also Creep Letheward forever, when he

grants ;

| Here man is lord, not drudge, of eyes Down some great river drift beyond

and feet and hands, men's sight, To where the undethronëd forest's royal

And to his life is knit with hourly

bands. tent Broods with its hush o'er half a con- Come out, then, from the old thoughts tinent ?

and old ways,

Before you harden to a crystal cold What man with men would push and Which the new life can shatter, but altercate,

not mould ; Piecing out crooked means to Freedom for you still waits, still, lookcrooked ends,

ing backward, stays, When he can have the skies and But widens still the irretrievable woods for friends,





| There seemed no strength in the dumb

toiler's tears, Of all the myriad moods of mind

No strength in suffering; but the Past That through the soul come thronging,

was strong: Which one was e'er so dear, so kind, The brute despair of trampled centuries So beautiful as Longing ?

Leaped up with one hoarse yell and The thing we long for, that we are

snapped its bands, For one transcendent moment,

Groped for its right with horny, cal. Before the Present poor and bare

lous hands, Can make its sneering comment. And stared around for God with blood.

shot eyes. Still, through our paltry stir and strife, What wonder if those palms were all Glows down the wished Ideal,

too hard And Longing moulds in clay what Life For nice distinctions, - if that mænad Carves in the marble Real ;

throngTo let the new life in, we know,

They whose thick atmosphere no bard Desire must ope the portal;

Had shivered with the lightning of his Perhaps the longing to be so

song, Helps make the soul imunortal.

Brutes with the memories and desires

of men, Longing is God's fresh heavenward will Whose chronicles were writ with iron With our poor earthward striving;

pen, We quench it that we may be still

In the crooked shoulder and the Content with merely living;

forehead low, But, would we learn that heart's full Set wrong to balance wrong, scope

And physicked woe with woe? Which we are hourly wronging, Our lives must climb from hope to hope And realize our longing.

They did as they were taught; not theirs

the blame, Ah! let us hope that to our praise If men who scattered firebrands reaped Good God not only reckons

the flame: The moments when we tread His ways, They trampled Peace beneath their But when the spirit beckons,

savage feet, That some slight good is also wrought And by her golden tresses drew Beyond self-satisfaction,

Mercy along the pavement of the When we are simply good in thought,

street. Howe'er we fail in action.

O Freedom! Freedom! is thy morning


So gory red ? Alas, thy light had ODE TO FRANCE.


Shone in upon the chaos of their FEBRUARY, 1848.

lair! They reared to thee such symbol as they

knew, As, flake by flake, the beetling ava And worshipped it with flame and lanches

blood, Build up their imminent crags of A Vengeance, axe in hand, that noiseless snow,

stood Till some chance thrill the loosened ruin Holding a tyrant's head up by the clotlaunches

. ted hair. In unwarned havoc on the roofs be

II. So grew and gathered through the silent What wrongs the Oppressor suffered, years

these we know; The madness of a People, wrong by These have found piteous voice in song wrong.

and prose;

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But for the Oppressed, their darkness And twined with golden threads his and their woe,

futile snare,
Their grinding centuries, — what Muse That swift, convicting glow all round
had those ?

him ran ;
Though hall and palace had nor eyes 'T was close beside him there,
nor ears,

| Sunrise whose Memnon is the soul of Hardening a people's heart to senseless

Thou kuewest them, O Earth, that o Broker-King, is this thy wisdom's

drank their tears,
O Heaven, that heard their inarticu-
late moan!

4) A dynasty plucked out as 't were a They noted down their fetters, link by


Grown rankly in a night, that leaves link ; Coarse was the hand that scrawled, and

no seed!

Could eighteen years strike down no red the ink ;

deeper root ? Rude was their score, as suits unlet

But now thy vulture eye was turned tered men, Notched with a headsman's axe upon

on Spain;

A shout from Paris, and thy crown falls a block : What marvel if, when came the aveng.

Thy race has ceased to reign, ing shock, "T was Atë. not Urania. held the And thou become a fugitive and scoff :

Slippery the feet that mount by stairs pen?

of gold, And weakest of all fences one of steel;

| Go and keep school again like him of With eye averted, and an anguished 40

Loathingly glides the Muse through

| The Syracusan tyrant ; -- thou mayst

feel scenes of strife,

Royal amid a birch-swayed commonweal !
Where, like the heart of Vengeance up

and down,
Throbs in its framework the blood.
muffled knife ;

Not long can he be ruler who allows Slow are the steps of Freedom, but her! His time to run before him; thou feet

wast naught Turn never backward : hers no bloody Soon as the strip of gold about thy brows glare ;

Was no more emblem of the People's Her light is calm, and innocent, and

thought : sweet,

Vain were thy bayonets against the foe And where it enters there is no de- Thou hadst to cope with ; thou didst spair:

wage Not first on palace and cathedral spire War not with Frenchmen merely ; -no, Quivers and gleams that unconsuming

Thy strife was with the Spirit of the fire ;

Age, While these stand black against her The invisible Spirit whose first breath morning skies,

divine The peasant sees it leap from peak to

Scattered thy frail endeavor, peak

And, like poor last year's leaves, Along his hills ; the craftsman's burn

whirled thee and thine
ing eyes

Into the Dark forever!
Own with cool tears its influence mother-
meek ;

It lights the poet's heart up like a Is here no triumph ? Nay, what

though Ah ! while the tyrant deemed it still The yellow blood of Trade meanwhile afar,

should pour

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Along its arteries a shrunken flow, I Rain, lark-like, her fancies, And the idle canvas droop around the His dreaming hands wander shore ?

Mid heart's-ease and pansies ; These do not make a state,

"'Tis a dream ! 'T is a vision !" Nor keep it great ;

Shrieks Mammon aghast;
I think God made

“ The day's broad derision
The earth for man, not trade;

Will chase it at last; And where each humblest human crea

Ye are mad, ye have taken ture

A slumbering kraken Can stand, no more suspicious or afraid,

For firm land of the Past !” Erect and kingly in his right of nature, Ah! if he awaken, To heaven and earth knit with harmo

God shield us all then, nious ties, –

If this dream rudely shaken
Where I behold the exultation

Shall cheat him again !
Of manhood glowing in those eyes
That had been dark for ages,

Or only lit with bestial loves and Since first I heard our North-wind

There I behold a Nation :

Since first I saw Atlantic throw
The France which lies
Between the Pyrenees and Rhine

On our grim rocks his thunderous

snow, Is the least part of France ;

I loved thee, Freedom ; as a boy I see her rather in the soul whose shine

| The rattle of thy shield at Marathon • Burns through the craftsman's grimy

Did with a Grecian joy countenance,

Through all my pulses run ; In the new energy divine

But I have learned to love thee now Of Toil's enfranchised glance.

Without the helm upon thy gleaming


A maiden mild and undefiled
And if it be a dream,

Like her who bore the world's redeem-
If the great Future be the little Past

ing child; 'Neath a new mask, which drops and

And surely wever did thine altars shows at last

glance The same weird, mocking face to balk With purer fires than now in France; and blast,

While, in their clear white flashes, Yet, Muse, a gladder measure suits the

Wrong's shadow, backward cast, theme,

Waves cowering o'er the ashes And the Tyrtæan harp

Of the dead, blaspheming Past, Loves notes more resolute and

O'er the shapes of fallen giants, sharp,

His own unburied brood, Throbbing, as throbs the bosom, hot

Whose dead hands clench defiance
and fast:

At the overpowering Good :
Such visions are of morning,

And down the happy future runs a flood
Theirs is no vague forewarning,

Of prophesying light; The dreams which nations dream come It shows an Earth no longer stained true,

with blood, And shape the world anew;

| Blossom and fruit where now we see the If this be a sleep,

Make it long, make it deep, Of Brotherhood and Right.
O Father, who sendest the harvests men

reap !
While Labor so sleepeth,

His sorrow is gone,
No longer he weepeth,

PRAISEST Law, friend ? We, too, love it
But smileth and steepeth

much as they that love it best; His thoughts in the dawn; / 'T is the deep, august foundation, where. He heareth Hope yonder

on Peace and Justice rest;

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