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“Avd is this," mused I, "all ye earned, He thinks how happy is my arm High-vaulted brain and cunning hand, 'Neath its white-gloved and jewelled That ye to greater men could teach

load; The skill yourselves could never reach ?" And wishes me some dreadful harm,

Hearing the merry corks explode. “And who were they," I mused, “that

Meanwhile I inly curse the bore wrought Throngh pathless wilds, with labor long, And envy hiin, outside the door,

Of hunting still the same old coon, The lighways of our daily thought? Who reared those towers of earliest song

In golden quiets of the moon. That lift us from the throng to peace

The winter wind is not so cold Remote in sunny silences ?"

As the bright smile he sees me win,

Nor the host's oldest wine so old
Out clanged the Ave Mary bells,

As our poor gabble sour and thin.
And to my heart this message came:
Each clamorous throat among them tells

I envy him the ungyved prance
What strong.souled martyrs died in

By which his freezing feet he warins, flame

And drag my lady's-chains and dance To make it possible that thou

The galley-slave of dreary forms. Shouldst here with brother sinners bow.

0, could he have my share of din, Thoughts that great hearts once broke And I his quiet !- past a doubt for, we

'T would still be one man bored within, Breathe cheaply in the common air; And just another bored without. The dust we trample heedlessly Throbbed once in saints and heroes rare, Who perished, opening for their race

GODMINSTER CHIMES. New pathways to the commonplace.

WRITTEN IN AID OF A CHIME OF BELLS Henceforth, when rings the health to FOR CHRIST CHURCH, CAMBRIDGE. those

GODMINSTER? Is it Fancy's play?
Who live in story and in song,

I know not, but the woril
O namieless dead, that now repose
Safe in Oblivion's chambers strong,

Sings in my heart, nor can I say

Whether 't was dreamed or heard ; One cup of recognition true

Yet fragrant in my mind it clings
Shall silently be drained to you !

As blossoms after rain,
And builds of half-remembered things

This vision in my brain.

Through aisles of long-drawn centuries My coachman, in the moonlight there,

My spirit walks in thought, Looks through the side-light of the And to that symbol lifts its eyes door;

Which God's own pity wrought; I hear him with his brethren swear,

From Calvary shines the altar's gleam, As I could do, – but only more.

The Church's East is there,

The Ages one great minster seem, Flattening his nose against the pane, That throbs with praise and prayer.

He envies me my brilliant lot,
Breathes on his aching fists in vain, And all the way from Calvary down
And dooms me to a place more hot. The carven pavement shows

Their graves who won the martyr's He sees me in to supper go,

crown A si!ken wonder by my side,

And safe in God repose;
Bare arms, bare shoulders, and a row The saints of many a warring creed

Of flounces, for the door too wide. Who low in heaven have learned

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