PROSPICE.

FEAR death?

to feel the fog in my throat,

The mist in my face,

When the snows begin, and the blasts denote

I am nearing the place,

The

power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe;

Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form,

Yet the strong man must go:

For the journey is done and the summit attained,

And the barriers fall,

Though a battle 's to fight ere the guerdon be gained,

The reward of it all.

I was ever a fighter, so

The best and the last!

one fight more,

I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore,

And bade me creep past.

K

No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers

The heroes of old,

Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness, and cold.

For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute 's at end,

And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend,

Shall change, shall become first a peace, then a joy, Then a light, then thy breast,

O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest!

124

YOUTH AND ᎪᎡᎢ .

.

YOUTH AND ART.

1.

Ir once might have been, once only:
We lodged in a street together,

You, a sparrow on the housetop lonely,
I, a lone she-bird of his feather.

2.

Your trade was with sticks and clay,

You thumbed, thrust, patted, and polished,

Then laughed, "They will see some day

Smith made, and Gibson demolished."

3.

My business was song, song, song;

I chirped, cheeped, trilled, and twittered, "Kate Brown's on the boards erelong,

And Grisi's existence embittered!"