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Waving so flower-like

When the winds blow !

Into the starlight

Rushing in spray, Happy at midnight,

Happy by day! Ever in motion,

Blithesome and cheery, Still climbing heavenward,

Never aweary ; Glad of all weathers,

Still seeming best, Upward or downward,

Motion thy rest;

take away.

his eyes.

Full of a nature

Nothing can tame, Changed every moment,

Ever the same;

Ceaseless aspiring,

Ceaseless content, Darkness or sunshine

Thy element;

Chief-mourner at the Golden Age's

hearse, Nor deem that souls whom Charon

grim had ferried Alone were fitting themesofepicverse: He could believe the promise of to

morrow, And feel the wondrous meaning of to

day; He had a deeper faith in holy sorrow

Than the world's seeming loss could To know the heart of all things was his

duty, All things did sing to him to make

him wise, And, with a sorrowful and conquering

beauty, The soul of all looked grandly from He gazed on all within him and without

him, He watched the flowing of Time's

steady tide, And shapes of glory floated allabout him And whispered to him, and he

prophesied. Than all men he more fearless was and

freer, And all his brethren cried with one

accord, “Behold the holy man! Behold the

Seer! Him who hath spoken with the unseen

Lord !" He to his heart with large embrace had

taken The universal sorrow of mankind, And, from that root, a shelter never

shaken, The tree of wisdom grew with sturdy

rind. He could interpret well the wondrous

voices Which to the calm and silent spirit

come : He knew that the One Soul no more

rejoices In the star's anthem than the insect's

hum. He in his heart was ever meek and

humble, And yet with kingly pomp his num

Glorious fountain !

Let my heart be Fresh, changeful, constant,

Upward, like thee !

ODE.

I.

In the old days of awe and keen-eyed

wonder, The Poet's song with blood-warm

truth was rife; He sa the mysteries which circle under

Theoutwardshellandskinof daily life. Nothing to him were fleeting time and

fashion, His soul was led by the eternal law; There was in him no hope of fame, no

passion, But, with calm, godlike eyes he only

saw. le did not sigh o'er heroes dead and

buried,

bers ran,

his grave.

As he foresaw how all things false

should crumble Before the free, uplifted soul of man : And, when he was made full to over

flowing With all the loveliness of heaven and

earth, Out rushed his song, like molten iron

glowing, To show God sitting by the humblest

hearth. With calmest courage he was ever ready To teach that action was the truth of

thought, And, with strong arm and purpose firm

and steady, An anchor for the drifting world he

wrought. Godid he makethe meanest man partaker

Of all his brother-godsunto him gave; All souls did reverence him and name

him Maker, And when he died heaped temples on And still his deathless words of light

are swimming Serene throughout the great deep in

finite Of human soul, unwaning and undim

ming, To cheer and guide the mariner at night.

II. But now the Poet is an empty rhymer Who lies with idle elbow on the

grass, And fits his singing, like acunningủimer, To all men's prides and fancies as

they pass. Nothisthe song, which, inits metre holy, Chimes with the music of the eternal

stars, Humblingthe tyrant, liftingup the lowly, And sending sun through the soul's

prison-bars. Maker no more, - no! unmaker

rather, For he unmakes who doth not all put

forth The power given by our loving Father To show the body's dross, the spirit's

worth. Awake! great spirit of the ages olden ! Shiver the mists that hide thy starry

lyre,

And letman's soul beyet again beholden

To thee for wings to soar to her desire. O, prophesy no more to-morrow's splen

dor, Be no more shamefaced to speak out

for Truth, Lay on her altar all the gushings tender, The hope, the fire, the loving faith of

youth ! O, prophesy no more the Maker's

coming, Say not his onward footsteps thou

canst hear In the dim void, like to the awful hum

ming Of the great wings of some new-light

ed sphere! O, prophesy no more, but be the Poet !

Thislonging was butgranted unto thee That, when all beauty thou couldst feel

and know it, That beauty in its highest thou couldst

be. O, thou who moanest tost with sealike

longings Who dimly hearest voices callon thee, Whose soul is overfilled with mighty

throngings Of love, and fear, and glorious agony, Thou of the toil-strung hands and iron

sinews And soul by Mother Earth with free

dom fed, In whom the hero-spirit yet continues, The old free nature is not chained or

dead, Arouse ! let thy soul break in music

thunder, Let loose the ocean that is in thee

pent, Pour forth thy hope, thy fear, thy love,

thy wonder, And tell the age what all its signs

have meant. Where'er thy wildered crowd of breth

ren jostles, Where'er there lingers but a shade of

wrong, There still is need of martyrs and

apostles, There still are texts for never-dying And thou in larger measure dost inherit What made thy great forerunners free

song : Fromage toageman's still aspiring spirit Finds wider scope and sees

with clearer eyes,

and wise. Sit thou enthronëd where the Poet's

mountain Above the thunder lifts its silent peak, And roll thy songs down like a gather

ing fountain, They all may drink and find the rest

they seek. Sing! there shall silence grow in earth

and heaven, A silence of deep awe and wondering: For, listening gladly, bend the angels,

even, To hear a mortal like an angel sing.

III.

Among the toil-worn poor my soul is

seeking For one to bring the Maker's name to

light, To bethe voiceofthat almighty speaking Which every age demands to do it

right. Proprieties our silken bards environ ; He who would be the tongue of this

wide land Must string his harp with chords of

sturdy iron And strike it with a toil-imbrownëd

hand; One who hath dwelt with Nature well

attended, Who hath learnt wisdom from her

mystic books, Whose soul with all her countless lives

hath blended, So that all beauty awesus in hislooks ; Who not with body's waste his soul

hath pampered, Who as the clear northwestern wind

is free, Who walks with Form's observances

unhampered, And follows the One Will obediently; Whose eyes, like windows on a breezy

summit, Control a lovely prospect every way; Who doth not sound God's sea with

earthly plummet, And find a bottom still of worthless

clay ;

Who heeds not how the lower guş ve

working, Knowing that one sure wind ble us on

above, And sees, beneath the foulest faces

lurking, One God-built shrine of reverence

and love; Who sees all stars that wheel their

shining marches Around the centre fixed of Destiny, Where the encircling soul curene o'er

arches The moving globe of bei įg like a sky; Who feels that God and Heaven's

great deeps are nearer Him to whose heart lis fellow-man is

nigh, Who doth not hold his soul's own free

dom dearer Than that of all '1is brethren, low or

high; Who to the Rigloc can feel himself the

truer For being gently patient with the

wrong, Who sees a brother in the evildoer, And finds in Love the heart's-blood

of his song; This, this is he for whom the world is

waiting Tosing the beatingsofits mighty heart, Too long hath it been patient with the

grating Of scrannel-pipes, and heard it mis

nained Art. To him the smiling soul of man shall

listen Laying awhile its crown of thorns

aside, And once again in every eye shall glisten

The glory of a nature satisfied. His verse shall have a great command

ing motion, Heaving and swelling with a melody Learntofthesky, the river, and theocean And all the pure, majestic things that

be. Awake, then, thou! we pine for thy

great presence To make us feel the soul once more

sublime, We are of far too infinite an essence

Torestcontented withthe lies of Time

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Old faces, all the friendly past

Rises within her heart again, And sunshine from her childhood cast

Makes summer of the icy rain.

Enhaloed by a mild, warm glow,

From all humanity apart, She hears old footsteps wandering slow Through the lone chambers of the

heart.

A vague and starry magic

Makes all things mysteries, And lures the earth's dumb spirit

Up to the longing skies, –
I seem to hear dim whispers,

And tremulous replies.
The fireflies o'er the meadow

In puises come and go ;
The elm-trees' heavy shadow

Weighs on the grass below; And faintly from the distance

The dreaming cock doth crow. All things look strange and mystic,

The very bushes swell
And take wild shapes and motions,

As if beneath a spell,
They seem not the same lilacs

Froin childhood known so well.

Outside the porch before the door,

Her cheek upon the cold, hard stone, She lies, no longer foul and poor,

No longer dreary and alone.

Next morning something heavily

Against the opening door did weigh, And there, from sin and sorrow free,

A woman on the threshold lay.

A smile upon the wan lips told

That she had found a calm release, And that, from out the want and cold,

The song had borne her soul in peace.

The snow of deepest silence

O’er everything doth fall, So beautiful and quiet,

And yet so like a pall, As if all life were ended,

And rest were come to all.

For, whom the heart of man shuts out,

Sometimes the heart of God takes in, And fences them all round about With silence 'mid the world's loud

din;

O wild and wondrous midnighi,

There is a might in thee To make the charmed body

Almost like spirit be, And give it some faint glimpses Of immortality!

1842.

And one of his great charities

Is Music, and it doth not scorn To close the lids upon the eyes

Of the polluted and forlorn ;

Far was she from her childhood's home,

Farther in guilt had wandered thence, Yet thither it had bid her come To die in maiden innocence.

1842.

A PRAYER
God I do not let my loved one die,

But rather wait until the time
That I am grown in purity

Enough to enter thy pure clime,
Then take me, I will gladly go,
So that my love remain below!
0, let her stay! She is by birth

What I through death must learn to We need her more on our poor earth, Than thou canst need in heaven with

thee : She hath her wings already, I Must burst this earth-shell ere I fly.

MIDNIGHT.

be;

The moon shines white and silent

On the mist, which, like a tide Of some enchanted ocean,

O’er the wide marsh doth glide, Spreading its ghost-like billows Silently far and wide.

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