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I know that sunshine, through whatever Slept and its shadow slept ; the wooden rift

bridge How shaped it matters not, upon my Thundered, and then was silent; on the walls

roofs Paints discs as perfect-rounded as its The sun-warped shingles rippled with source,

the heat ; And, like its antitype, the ray divine, Summer on field and hill, in heart and However finding entrance, perfect still, brain, Repeats the image unimpaired of God. All life washed clean in this high tide of

June. We, who by shipwreck only find the shores

DARA. Of divine wisdom, can but kneel at

WHEN Persia's sceptre trembled in a Can but exult to feel beneath our feet, hand That long stretched vainly down the Wilted with harem-heats, and all the yielding deeps,

land The shock and sustenance of solid earth ; Was hovered over by those vulture ills Inland afar we see what temples gleam That snuff decaying empire from afar, Through immemorial stems of sacred | Then, with a nature balanced as a star, groves,

Dara arose, a shepherd of the hills.
And we conjecture shining shapes there-
Yet for a space we love to wonder here

He who had governed fleecy subjects Among the shells and sea-weed of the Made his own village by the selfsame

well beach.


Secure and quiet as a guarded fold ; So mused I once within my willow-tent Then, gathering strength by slow and One brave June morning, when the wise degrees bluff northwest,

Under his sway, to neighbor villages Thrusting aside a dank and snuffling Order returned, nd faith and justice day

old. That nade us bitter at our neighbors'

sins, Brimmed the great cup of heaven with Now when it fortuned that a king more

wise sparkling cheer

Endued the realm with brain and hands And roared a lusty stave; the sliding

Charles, Blue toward the west, and bluer and He sought on every side men brave and

just ; more blue, Living and lustrous as a woman's eyes

And having heard our mountain shepLook once and look no more, with south- How he refilled the mould of elder days,

herd's praise, ward curve Ran crinkling sunniness, like Helen's To Dara gave a satrapy in trust.

hair Glimpsed in Elysium, insubstantial So Dara shepherded a province wide, gold;

Nor in his viceroy's sceptre took more From blossom-clouded orchards, far pride away

Than in his crook before; but envy The bobolink tinkled; the deep mead- finds ows flowed

More food in cities than on mountains With multitudinous pulse of light and shade

And the frank sun of natures clear and Against the bases of the southern hills, While here and there a drowsy island Breeds poisonous fogs in low and marish rick

and eyes,

bare ;



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Was found therein. Some blushed and hung the head;

Not Dara; open as the sky's blue roof He stood, and "O my lord, behold the proof

That I was faithful to my trust," he said.

"To govern men, lo all the spell I had! My soul in these rude vestments ever clad

Still to the unstained past kept true and leal,

Still on these plains could breathe her mountain air,

And fortune's heaviest gifts serenely bear,

Which bend men from their truth and make them reel.

"For ruling wisely I should have small skill,

Were I not lord of simple Dara still; That sceptre kept, I could not lose my way."

Strange dew in royal eyes grew round and bright,

And strained the throbbing lids; before 't was night

Two added provinces blest Dara's sway.


THE snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night

Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white.

Every pine and fir and hemloek

Wore ermine too dear for an earl,

And the poorest twig on the elm-tree

Was ridged inch deep with pearl.

From sheds new-roofed with Carrara

Came Chanticleer's muffled crow, The stiff rails were softened to swan'sdown,

And still fluttered down the snow.

I stood and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurries of snow-birds,
Like brown leaves whirling by.

I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood;
How the flakes were folding it gently,
As did robins the babes in the wood.

Up spoke our own little Mabel,
Saying, "Father, who makes it


And I told of the good All-father

Who cares for us here below.

Again I looked at the snow-fall,

And thought of the leaden sky That arched o'er our first great sorrow, When that mound was heaped so high.

I remembered the gradual patience That fell from that cloud like snow, Flake by flake, healing and hiding

The scar of our deep-plunged woe.

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