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and long.



Not heavy neither, they could never draw, Pricked the effeminate palate with sur. Ensign's long bow!” Then laughter loud prise

Of savor whose mere harshness seemed So they in their leaf-shadowed microcosm

divine. Image the larger world; for wheresoe'er Ten men are gathered, the observant eye Oh, benediction of the higher mood Will find mankind in little, as the stars And human - kindness of the lower ! for Glide up and set, and all the heavens re

both volve

I will be grateful while I live, nor question In the small welkin of a drop of dew. The wisdom that hath made us what we

are, I love to enter pleasure by a postern, With such large range as from the aleNot the broad popular gate that gulps the

house bench mob;

Can reach the stars and be with both at To find my theatres in roadside nooks,

home. Where men are actors, and suspect it not; They tell us we have fallen on prosy days, Where Nature all unconscious works her Condemned to glean the leavings of earth's will,

feast And every passion moves with easy gait, Where gods and heroes took delight of Unhampered by the buskin or the train.

old; Hating the crowd, where we gregarious But though our lives, moving in one dull

round Lead lonely lives, I love society,

Of repetition infinite, become Nor seldom find the best with simple souls Stale as a newspaper once read, and though Unswerved by culture from their native History herself, seen in her workshop,

bent, The ground we meet on being primal man To have lost the art that dyed those gloriAnd nearer the deep bases of our lives.

ous panes,

Rich with memorial shapes of saint and But oh, half heavenly, earthly half, my

sage, soul,

That pave with splendor the Past's dusky Canst thou from those late ecstasies de- aisles, scend,

Panes that enchant the light of conimon day Thy lips still wet with the miraculous wine With colors costly as the blood of kings, That transubstantiates all thy baser stuff Till with ideal hues it edge our thought, To such divinity that soul and sense, Yet while the world is left, while nature Once more commingled in their source, are

lasts, lost,

And man the best of nature, there shall be Canst thou descend to quench a vulgar Somewhere contentment for these human thirst

hearts, With the mere dregs and rinsings of the Some freshness, some unused material world?

For wonder and for song. I lose myself Well, if my nature find her pleasure so, In other ways where solemn guide-posts I am content, nor need to blush; I také

say, My little gift of being clean from God, This way to Knowledge, This way to Repose, Not haggling for a better, holding it But here, here only, I am ne'er betrayed, Good as was ever any in the world,

For every by-path leads me to my love. My days as good and full of miracle. I pluck my nutriment from any bush, God's passionless reformers, influences, Finding out poison as the first men did That purify and heal and are not seen, By tasting and then suffering, if I must. Shall man say whence your virtue is, or Sometimes my bush burns, and sometimes

how it is

Ye make medicinal the wayside weed ? A leafless wilding shivering by the wall; I know that sunshine, through whatever But I have known when winter barberries


How shaped it matters not, upon my walls
Paints discs as perfect - rounded as its

And, like its antitype, the ray divine, WHEN Persia's sceptre trembled in a hand
However finding entrance, perfect still, Wilted with barem-heats, and all the land
Repeats the image uniinpaired of God. Was hovered over by those vulture ills

That snuff decaying empire from afar, We, who by shipwreck only find the shores Then, with a nature balanced as a star, Of divine wisdom, can but kneel at first; Dara arose, a shepherd of the hills. Can but exult to feel beneath our feet, That long stretched vainly down the yield- He who had governed fleecy subjects well ing deeps,

Made his own village by the selfsame The shock and sustenance of solid earth;

spell Inland afar we see what temples gleam Secure and quiet as a guarded fold; Through immemorial stems of sacred Then, gathering strength by slow and wise groves,

degrees And we conjecture shining shapes there- Under his sway, to neighbor villages

Order returned, and faith and justice old. love to wander here Among the shells and seaweed of the Now when it fortuned that a king more wise beach.

Endued the realm with brain and hands

in ; Yet for a space

and eyes,



So mused I once within willow-tent He sought on every side men brave and One brave June morning, when the bluff just ; northwest,

And having heard our mountain shepherd's Thrusting aside a dank and snuffling day

praise, That made us bitter at our neighbors' sins, How he refilled the mould of elder days, Brimmed the great cup of heaven with To Dara gave a satrapy in trust.

sparkling cheer And roared a lusty stave ; the sliding So Dara shepherded a province wide, Charles,

Nor in his viceroy's sceptre took more Blue toward the west, and bluer and more

pride blue,

Than in his crook before ; but envy

finds Living and lustrous as a woman's eyes More food in cities than on mountains Look once and look no more, with south

bare ; ward curve

And the frank sun of natures clear and Ran crinkling sunniness, like Helen's hair Glimpsed in Elysium, insubstantial gold; Breeds poisonous fogs in low and marish From blossom-clouded orchards, far away

minds. The bobolink tinkled; the deep meadows flowed

Soon it was hissed into the royal ear, With multitudinous pulse of light and That, though wise Dara's province, year shade

by year, Against the bases of the southern hills, Like a great sponge, sucked wealth and While here and there a drowsy island rick

plenty up, Slept and its shadow slept; the wooden Yet, when he squeezed it at the king's bebridge

hest, Thundered, and then was silent; on the Some yellow drops, more rich than all the roofs

rest, The sun-warped shingles rippled with the Went to the filling of his private cup.

heat; Summer on field and hill, in heart and For proof, they said, that, wheresoe'er he brain,

went, All life washed clean in this high tide of A chest, beneath whose weight the camel June.



Went with him ; and no mortal eye had wrote: Print that as if you loved it. Let not

a comma be blundered. Especially I fear they What was therein, save only Dara's own; will put gleaming' for 'gloaming' in the first But, when 't was opened, all his tent was

line unless you look to it. May you never known

have the key which shall unlock the whole

meaning of the poem to you!” To glow and lighten with heaped jewels' sheen.

The snow had begun in the gloaming,

And busily all the night
The King set forth for Dara's province Had been heaping field and highway

With a silence deep and white.
There, as was fit, outside the city's gate,
The viceroy met him with a stately train, Every pine and fir and hemlock
And there, with archers circled, close at Wore ermine too dear for an earl,

And the poorest twig on the elm-tree
A camel with the chest was seen to stand: Was ridged inch deep with pearl.
The King's brow reddened, for the guilt
was plain.

From sheds new-roofed with Carrara

Came Chanticleer's muffled crow, “Open me here,” he cried, “ this treasure- The stiff rails softened to swan’s-down, chest!”

And still fluttered down the snow. 'T was done ; and only a worn shepherd's vest

I stood and watched by the window Was found therein. Some blushed and The noiseless work of the sky, bung the head ;

And the sudden flurries of snow-birds,
Not Dara ; open as the sky's blue roof Like brown leaves whirling by.
He stood, and “O my lord, bebold the

I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn That I was faithful to my trust,” he said. Where a little headstone stood;

How the flakes were folding it gently, To govern men, lo all the spell I had ! As did robins the babes in the wood. My soul in these rude vestments ever clad Still to the unstained past kept true and leal, Up spoke our own little Mabel, Still on these plains could breathe her Saying, “ Father, who makes it snow ?” mountain air,

And I told of the good All-father
And fortune's heaviest gifts serenely bear, Who cares for us here below.
Which bend men from their truth and
make them reel.

Again I looked at the snow-fall,

And thought of the leaden sky “ For ruling wisely I should have small That arched o'er our first great sorrow, skill,

When that mound was heaped so high. Were I not lord of simple Dara still; That sceptre kept, I could not lose my

I remembered the gradual patience way."

That fell from that cloud like snow, Strange dew in royal eyes grew round and Flake by flake, healing and hiding

The scar that renewed our woe. And strained the throbbing lids; before 't was night

And again to the child I whispered, Two added provinces blest Dara's sway.

“ The snow that husheth all,
Darling, the merciful Father

Alone can make it fall !”

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;
One of the "earlier verses” sent to the Anti- And she, kissing back, could not know
Slavery Standard. In a letter to Mr. Gay, That my kiss was given to her sister,
dated Elmwood, December 22, 1849, Loweli Folded close under deepening snow.


Only there sighed from the pine-tops

A music of seas far away.



And sang

bower eaves,


Only the pattering aspen

Made a sound of growing rain,

That fell ever faster and faster, “What fairings will ye that I bring ?” Then faltered to silence again.

Said the King to his daughters three; “For I to Vanity Fair am boun,

“Oh, where shall I find a little foot-page Now say what shall they be?

That would win both hose and shoon,

And will bring to me the Singiug Leaves Then


and spake the eldest daughter, If they grow under the moon ? " That lady tall and grand: “Oh, bring me pearls and diamonds great, Then lightly turned him Walter the page, And gold rings for my hand.”

By the stirrup as he ran:

“Now pledge you me the truesome word Thereafter spake the second daughter, Of a king and gentleman,

That was both white and red: “For me bring silks that will stand alone, “That you will give me the first, first thing And a gold comb for my head.”

You meet at your castle-gate,

And the Princess shall get the Singing
Then came the turn of the least daughter, Leaves,
That was whiter than thistle-down,

Or mine be a traitor's fate."
And among the gold of her blithesome hair
Dim shone the golden crown.

The King's head dropt upon his breast

A moment, as it might be; “There came a bird this morning,

'T will be my dog, he thought, and said, 'neath my

“My faith I plight to thee.” Till I dreamed, as his music made me, * Ask thou for the Singing Leaves.' Then Walter took from next his heart

A packet small and thin, Then the brow of the King swelled crimson “Now give you this to the Princess Anne, With a flush of angry scorn:

The Singing Leaves are therein.” “Well have ye spoken, my two eldest, And chosen as ye were born;


As the King rode in at his castle-gate, “ But she, like a thing of peasant race,

A maiden to meet him ran, That is happy binding the sbeaves;" And “Welcome, father!” she laughed and Then he saw her dead mother in her face,

cried And said, “ Thou shalt have thy leaves." Together, the Princess Anne.

“ Lo, here the Singing Leaves," quoth he, He mounted and rode three days and nights “And woe, but they cost me dear!” Till he came to Vanity Fair,

She took the packet, and the smile And 't was easy to buy the gems and the Deepened down beneath the tear.

silk, But no Singing Leaves were there. It deepened down till it reached her heart,

And then gushed up again, Then deep in the greenwood rode he, And lighted her tears as the sudden sun And asked of every tree,

Transfigures the summer rain.
" Oh, if you have ever a Singing Leaf,
I pray you give it me!”

And the first Leaf, when it was opened,

“I am Walter the page, But the trees all ept their counsel,

And the songs I sing 'neath thy window And never a word said they,

Are my only heritage.”



And the second Leaf sang: “But in the For the same wave that rims the Carib land

shore That is neither on earth nor sea,

With momentary brede of pearl and gold, My lute and I are lords of more

Goes hurrying thence to gladden with its Than thrice this kingdom's fee."

Lorn weeds bound fast on rocks of LabraAnd the third Leaf sang,

« Be mine! Be

dor, mine!”

By love divine on one sweet errand rolled. And ever it sang, “ Be mine!” Then sweeter it


and ever sweeter, And, though Thy healing waters far withAnd said, “I am thine, thine, thine!”


I, too, can wait and feed on hope of Thee At the first Leaf she grew pale enough, And of the dear recurrence of Thy law, At the second she turned aside,

Sure that the parting grace my morning At the third, 't was as if a lily flushed With a rose's red heart's tide.

Abides its time to come in search of me.


“Good counsel gave the bird,” said she, “I have my hope thrice o'er,

THE FINDING OF THE LYRE For they sing to my very heart,” she said, “And it sings to them evermore. THERE lay upon the ocean's shore

What once a tortoise served to cover; She brought to him her beauty and truth, A

year and more, with rush and roar, But and broad earldoms three,

The surf had rolled it over,
And he made her queen of the broader lands Had played with it, and flung it by,
He held of his lute in fee.

As wind and weather might decide it,
Then tossed it high where sand-drifts dry

Cheap burial might provide it.

It rested there to bleach or tan,
Not always unimpeded can I pray, The rains had soaked, the suns had burned
Nor, pitying saint, thine intercession claim; it;
Too closely clings the burden of the day, With many a ban the fisherman
And all the mint and anise that I


Had stumbled o'er and spurned it; But swells my debt and deepens my self- And there the fisher-girl would stay, blame.

Conjecturing with her brother

How in their play the poor estray Shall I less patience bave than Thou, who Might serve some use or other.

know That Thou revisit'st all who wait for thee, So there it lay, through wet and dry Nor only fill'st the unsounded deeps be- As empty as the last new sonnet, low,

Till by and by came Mercury, But dost refresh with punctual overflow And, having mused upon it, The rifts where unregarded mosses be ? Why, here,” cried he, “the thing of

things The drooping seaweed hears, in night In shape, material, and dimension ! abyssed,

Give it but strings, and, lo, it sings, Far and more far the wave's receding A wonderful invention !

shocks, Nor doubts, for all the darkness and the So said, so done; the chords he strained, mist,

And, as his fingers o'er them hovered, That the pale shepherdess will keep her The shell disdained a soul had gained, tryst,

The lyre had been discovered. And shoreward lead again her foam-fleeced O empty world that round us lies, flocks.

Dead shell, of soul and thought forsaken,

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