Were I a skilful painter,
My pencil, not my pen,
Should try to teach thee hope and fear,
And who would blame me then?--
Fear of the tide of darkness
That floweth fast behind,
And hope to make thee journey on
In the journey of the mind.

Were I a skilful painter,
What should I paint for thee?--
A tiny spring-bud peeping out
From a withered wintry tree;
The warm blue sky of summer
O'er jagged ice and snow,
And water hurrying gladsome out
From a cavern down below;

The dim light of a beacon
Upon a stormy sea,
Where a lonely ship to windward beats
For life and liberty;
A watery sun-ray gleaming
Athwart a sullen cloud
And falling on some grassy flower
The rain had earthward bowed;

Morn peeping o'er a mountain,...

[1]

A shepherd, neighbour to the sea,
Lived with his flock contentedly.
His fortune, though but small,
Was safe within his call.
At last some stranded kegs of gold
Him tempted, and his flock he sold,
Turn'd merchant, and the ocean's waves
Bore all his treasure - to its caves.
Brought back to keeping sheep once more,
But not chief shepherd, as before,
When sheep were his that grazed the shore,
He who, as Corydon or Thyrsis,
Might once have shone in pastoral verses,
Bedeck'd with rhyme and metre,
Was nothing now but Peter.
But time and toil redeem'd in full
Those harmless creatures rich in wool;
And as the lulling winds, one day,
The vessels wafted with a gentle motion,
'Want you,' he cried, 'more money, Madam Ocean?
Add...

The figure that thou here seest . . . Tut!
Was it for gentle Shakespeare put?
- B. JORSON. (Adapted.)



I “next poet?” No, my hearties,
I nor am nor fain would be!
Choose your chiefs and pick your parties,
Not one soul revolt to me!
I, forsooth, sow song-sedition?
I, a schism in verse provoke?
I, blown up by bard’s ambition,
Burst, your bubble-king? You joke.

Come, be grave! The sherris mantling
Still about each mouth, mayhap,
Breeds you insight, just a scantling,
Brings me truth out, just a scrap.
Look and tell me! Written, spoken,
Here’s my life-long work: and where
Where’s your warrant or my token
I’m the dead king’s son and heir?

Here’s my work: does work discover,
What was rest from work, my life?

Name not his deed: in shuddering and in haste
We dragged him darkly o'er the windy fell:
That night there was a gibbet in the waste,
And a new sin in hell.

Be his deed hid from commonwealths and kings,
By all men born be one true tale forgot;
But three things, braver than all earthly things,
Faced him and feared him not.

Above his head and sunken secret face
Nested the sparrow's young and dropped not dead.
From the red blood and slime of that lost place
Grew daisies white, not red.

And from high heaven looking upon him,
Slowly upon the face of God did come
A smile the cherubim and seraphim
Hid all their faces from.

(A WARNING)

"Am I my brother's keeper?"
Yes, of a truth!
Thine asking is thine answer.
That self-condemning cry of Cain
Has been the plea of every selfish soul since then,
Which hath its brother slain.
God's word is plain,
And doth thy shrinking soul arraign.

Thy brother's keeper?
Yea, of a truth thou art!
For if not--who?
Are ye not both,--both thou and he
Of God's great family?
How rid thee of thy soul's responsibility?
For every ill in all the world
Each soul is sponsor and account must bear.
And He, and he thy brother of despair,
Claim, of thy overmuch, their share.

Thou hast had good, and he the strangled days;
But now,--the old things pass.
No longer of thy grace
Is he content to live in evil case
For ...

No, foolish youth, To virtuous fame
If now thy early hopes be vow'd,
If true ambition's nobler flame
Command thy footsteps from the croud,
Lean not to love's inchanting snare;
His songs, his words, his looks beware,
Nor join his votaries, the young and fair.
By thought, by dangers, and by toils,
The wreath of just renown is worn;
Nor will ambition's awful spoils
The flowery pomp of ease adorn:
But love unbends the force of thought;
By love unmanly fears are taught;
And love's reward with gaudy sloth is bought.

Yet thou hast read in tuneful lays,
And heard from many a zealous breast,
The pleasing tale of beauty's praise
In wisdom's lofty language dress'd;
Of beauty powerful to impart
Each finer sense, each comelier art,
And sooth and p...

Who d' ye think we've got here?--quite reformed from the giddy.
    Fantastic young thing that once made such a noise--
Why, the famous Miss Fudge--that delectable Biddy,
    Whom you and I saw once at Paris, when boys,
In the full blaze of bonnets, and ribands, and airs--
    Such a thing as no rainbow hath colors to paint;
Ere time had reduced her to wrinkles and prayers,
    And the Flirt found a decent retreat in the Saint.

Poor "Pa" hath popt off--gone, as charity judges,
To some choice Elysium reserved for the Fudges;
And Miss, with a fortune, besides expectations
From some much revered and much palsied relations,
Now wants but a husband, with requisites meet,--
Age, thirty, or thereabouts--stature six feet,
And warranted godly--to make all complete.

Child of two strong nations, heir
Born of high-souled hope that smiled,
Seeing for each brought forth a fair
Child,

By thy gracious brows, and wild
Golden-clouded heaven of hair,
By thine eyes elate and mild,

Hope would fain take heart to swear
Men should yet be reconciled,
Seeing the sign she bids thee bear,
Child.

Be not content - contentment means inaction;
    The growing soul aches on its upward quest;
Satiety is twin to satisfaction;
    All great achievements spring from life's unrest.

The tiny roots, deep in the dark mould hiding,
    Would never bless the earth with leaf and flower
Were not an inborn restlessness abiding
    In seed and germ, to stir them with its power.

Were man contented with his lot forever,
    He had not sought strange seas with sails unfurled,
And the vast wonder of our shores had never
    Dawned on the gaze of an admiring world.

Prize what is yours, but be not quite contented.
    There is a healthful restlessness of soul
By which a mighty purpose is augmented
    In urging men to reach a higher goal.

So when the r...

("Fuyons ensemble.")

[HERNANI, Act II.]


DONNA SOL.    Together let us fly!

HERNANI. Together? No! the hour is past for flight.
Dearest, when first thy beauty smote my sight,
I offered, for the love that bade me live,
Wretch that I was, what misery had to give:
My wood, my stream, my mountain. Bolder grown,
By thy compassion to an outlaw shown,
The outlaw's meal beneath the forest shade,
The outlaw's couch far in the greenwood glade,
I offered. Though to both that couch be free,
I keep the scaffold block reserved for me.

DONNA SOL. And yet you promised?

HERNANI (falls on his knee.)    Angel! in this hour,
Pursued by vengeance and oppressed by power -
Even in this hour when death prepares to close
In shame a...

"They need not go away!" the Master said,
    "Give ye to them." Ah, Lord, behold our store -
    These loaves, these fishes, - see, we have no more!
How shall this fainting throng with these be fed?
"Make them sit down!" - and the disciples sped
    To do His will. He blessed, and brake, and gave
    And as they ate, each heart grew strong and brave,
Filled, till they craved no more, with hallowed bread.
Thus, when our hearts grow faint, and stores are small,
    And thou demandest all that we possess,
O, help us, Lord, to bring that little all,
Knowing shouldst thou the gift accept and bless,
    Our worthless store, so changed and glorified,
Ourselves shall feed, and fainting throngs beside.

Come, my Celia, let us prove
While we may, the sports of love;
Time will not be ours forever;
He at length our good will sever.
Spend not then his gifts in vain.
Suns that set may rise again;
But if once we lose this light,
’Tis with us perpetual night.
Why should we defer our joys?
Fame and rumor are but toys.
Cannot we delude the eyes
Of a few poor household spies,
Or his easier ears beguile,
So removed by our wile?
’Tis no sin love’s fruit to steal;
But the sweet theft to reveal.
To be taken, to be seen,
These have crimes accounted been.

Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name;
Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth, in Heaven the same;
Give us this day our daily bread, and may our debts to heaven--
As we our earthly debts forgive--by Thee be all forgiven;
When tempted or by evil vexed, restore Thou us again,
And Thine be the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory, forever and ever; amen.

Under the high unclouded sun
That makes the ship and shadow one,
    I sail away as from the fort
Booms sullenly the noonday gun.

The odorous airs blow thin and fine,
The sparkling waves like emeralds shine,
    The lustre of the coral reefs
Gleams whitely through the tepid brine.

And glitters o'er the liquid miles
The jewelled ring of verdant isles,
    Where generous Nature holds her court
Of ripened bloom and sunny smiles.

Encinctured by the faithful seas
Inviolate gardens load the breeze,
    Where flaunt like giant-warders' plumes
The pennants of the cocoa-trees.

Enthroned in light and bathed in balm,
In lonely majesty the Palm
    Blesses the isles with waving hands, -
High-Priest of the eternal Calm.

Yet...

    Antæus, as the ancient poets sing,
        Though in his contest with the God of Power
            Doomed to be conquered, stayed the fatal hour,
    And the onlookers set to wondering.
    For overborne, to Earth he'd closely cling,
        Until he rose again, a mighty tower.
        Thus could the Earth with strength her lover dower,
    And very near to victory could bring.
        So when I feel thy tender hand in mine,
            I, too, dear love, against the world could stand,
                Courage divine comes with thy lightest touch.
        Afar from thee Antæus-like I pine,
            But strength returns now as I clasp thy hand.
                Ah! that so slight a thing should mean so much.

    He who locks a gate doth close
    Pity's heart against his woes;
    But who opens one shall find
    God is standing just behind.

Hear a word, a word in season,
for the day is drawing nigh,
When the Cause shall call upon us,
some to live, and some to die!

He that dies shall not die lonely,
many an one hath gone before;
He that lives shall bear no burden
heavier than the life they bore.

Nothing ancient is their story,
e'en but yesterday they bled,
Youngest they of earth's beloved,
last of all the valiant dead.

E'en the tidings we are telling,
was the tale they had to tell,
E'en the hope that our hearts cherish,
was the hope for which they fell.

In the grave where tyrants thrust them,
lies their labour and their pain,
But undying from their sorrow
springeth up the hope again.

Mourn not therefore, nor lament it,
that the world outlives ...

Almighty God! Supreme! Most High!
    Before Thy throne, in reverence, we kneel;
We cannot realize Thine infinity;
    Beholding not, we can Thy presence feel;
Though veiled impenetrably, Thou dost reveal
Such evidence as clouds cannot conceal!

Acknowledged, though unseen, Almighty Power!
    Within its secret depths, the bosom pays
In pleasure's or affliction's calmer hour,
    The heart's sincerest offering of praise;
Intuitive, unuttered prayers arise
Without the outstretched arms, or reverently clos-ed eyes.

Down deep within the soul's mysterious seat,
    The voice of reason, and inherent sense,
Admits Thy Sovereign Power, and doth entreat
    The guidance of a Just Omnipotence;
Thus doth the human essence e'er depend
On that Supreme. Ete...