Stop, Christian passer-by: Stop, child of God,
And read, with gentle breast. Beneath this sod
A poet lies, or that which once seem'd he
O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C.
That he who many a year with toil of breath
Found death in life, may here find life in death:
Mercy for praise, to be forgiven for fame
He ask'd, and hoped through Christ. Do thou the same.

He follows me no more, I said, nor stands
Beside me. And I wake these later days
In an April mood, a wonder light and free.
The vision is gone, but gone the constant pain
Of constant thought. I see dawn from my hill,
And watch the lights which fingers from the waters
Twine from the sun or moon. Or look across
The waste of bays and marshes to the woods,
Under the prism colors of the air,
Held in a vacuum silence, where the clouds,
Like cyclop hoods are tossed against the sky
In terrible glory.

        And earth charmed I lie
Before the staring sphinx whose musing face
Is this Egyptian heaven, and whose eyes
Are separate clouds of gold, whose pedestal
Is earth, whose silken sheathed claws
No longer toy with me, even while I stroke them:
Since I h...

I.

        Up with the country's flag!
        And let the winds caress it, fold on fold,--
        A stainless flag, and glorious to behold!
        It is our honour's pledge;
        It is the token of a truth sublime,
        A thing to die for, and to wonder at,
        When, on the shuddering edge
        Of some great storm, it waves its woven joy,
        Which no man shall destroy,
        In shine or shower, in peace or battle-time.
        Up with the flag!
        The winds are wild to toss it, and to brag
        Of England's high renown,--
        And of the throne where Chivalry has sat
        Acclaimed in bower and town
        For England's high renown!--
        And of these happy isles where men are free
        And masters o...

How steep the stairs within King's houses are
For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread,
And O how salt and bitter is the bread
Which falls from this Hound's table, - better far
That I had died in the red ways of war,
Or that the gate of Florence bare my head,
Than to live thus, by all things comraded
Which seek the essence of my soul to mar.

'Curse God and die:    what better hope than this?
He hath forgotten thee in all the bliss
Of his gold city, and eternal day' -
Nay peace:    behind my prison's blinded bars
I do possess what none can take away,
My love and all the glory of the stars.

At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,
    On board of the cumberland, sloop-of-war;
And at times from the fortress across the bay
    The alarum of drums swept past,
    Or a bugle blast
    From the camp on the shore.

Then far away to the south uprose
    A little feather of snow-white smoke,
And we knew that the iron ship of our foes
    Was steadily steering its course
    To try the force
    Of our ribs of oak.

Down upon us heavily runs,
    Silent and sullen, the floating fort;
Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns,
    And leaps the terrible death,
    With fiery breath,
    From each open port.

We are not idle, but send her straight
    Defiance back in a full broadside!
As hail rebounds from a roof of slate,
...

Pardon, old fathers, if you still remain
Somewhere in ear-shot for the story's end,
Old Dublin merchant "free of the ten and four"
Or trading out of Galway into Spain;
Old country scholar, Robert Emmet's friend,
A hundred-year-old memory to the poor;
Merchant and scholar who have left me blood
That has not passed through any huckster's loin,
Soldiers that gave, whatever die was cast:
A Butler or an Armstrong that withstood
Beside the brackish waters of the Boyne
James and his Irish when the Dutchman crossed;
Old merchant skipper that leaped overboard
After a ragged hat in Biscay Bay;
You most of all, silent and fierce old man,
Because the daily spectacle that stirred
My fancy, and set my boyish lips to say,
"Only the wasteful virtues earn the sun";
P...

Matilda Maud Mackenzie frankly hadn't any chin,
Her hands were rough, her feet she turned invariably in;
Her general form was German,
By which I mean that you
Her waist could not determine
To within a foot or two:
And not only did she stammer,
But she used the kind of grammar
That is called, for sake of euphony, askew.

From what I say about her, don't imagine I desire
A prejudice against this worthy creature to inspire.
She was willing, she was active,
She was sober, she was kind,
But she never looked attractive
And she hadn't any mind!
I knew her more than slightly,
And I treated her politely
When I met her, but of course I wasn't blind!

Matilda Maud Mackenzie had a habit that was droll,
She spent her morning seated on...

THE ARGUMENT.

Introduction to this more difficult part of the subject. Of truth and its three classes, matter of fact, experimental or scientifical truth, (contradistinguished from opinion) and universal truth: which last is either metaphysical or geometrical, either purely intellectual or perfectly abstracted. On the power of discerning truth depends that of acting with the view of an end; a circumstance essential to virtue. Of virtue, considered in the divine mind as a perpetual and universal beneficence. Of human virtue, considered as a system of particular sentiments and actions, suitable to the design of providence and the condition of man; to whom it constitutes the chief good and the first beauty. Of vice and its origin. Of ridicule: its general nature and final cause. Of the passions; particularly of those which relate ...

It snowed in spring on earth so dry and warm
The flakes could find no landing place to form.
Hordes spent themselves to make it wet and cold,
And still they failed of any lasting hold.
They made no white impression on the black.
They disappeared as if earth sent them back.
Not till from separate flakes they changed at night
To almost strips and tapes of ragged white
Did grass and garden ground confess it snowed,
And all go back to winter but the road.
Next day the scene was piled and puffed and dead.
The grass lay flattened under one great tread.
Borne down until the end almost took root,
The rangey bough anticipated fruit
With snowball cupped in every opening bud.
The road alone maintained itself in mud,
Whatever its secret was of greater heat
From inwar...

This is just a place:
we go around, distanced,
yearly in a star's

atmosphere, turning
daily into and out of
direct light and

slanting through the
quadrant seasons: deep
space begins at our

heels, nearly rousing
us loose: we look up
or out so high, sight's

silk almost draws us away:
this is just a place:
currents worry themselves

coiled and free in airs
and oceans: water picks
up mineral shadow and

plasm into billions of
designs, frames: trees,
grains, bacteria: but

is love a reality we
made here ourselves,
and grief, did we design

that, or do these,
like currents, whine
in and out among us merely

as we arrive and go:
this is just a place:
the ...

Let kings and rulers learn this line from me:
Where power is weak, unsafe is majesty.

Why should we covet much, whenas we know
W'ave more to bear our charge than way to go?

When these eyes, long dimmed with weeping,
In the silent dust are sleeping;
When above my narrow bed
The breeze shall wave the thistle's head--
                    Thou wilt think of me, love!

When the queen of beams and showers
Comes to dress the earth with flowers;
When the days are long and bright,
And the moon shines all the night--
                    Thou wilt think of me, love!

When the tender corn is springing,
And the merry thrush is singing;
When the swallows come and go,
On light wings flitting to and fro--
                    Thou wilt think of me, love!

When laughing childhood learns by rote
The cuckoo's oft-repeated note;
When the meads are fresh and green,
And the hawthorn buds are seen--
                    Thou...

Goe you, my lynes, Embassadours of loue,
With my harts tribute to her conquering eyes,
From whence, if you one tear of pitty moue
For all my woes, that onely shall suffise.
When you Minerua in the sunne behold,
At her perfections stand you then and gaze,
Where in the compasse of a Marygold,
Meridianis sits within a maze.
And let Inuention of her beauty vaunt
When Dorus sings his sweet Pamelas loue,
And tell the Gods, Mars is predominant,
Seated with Sol, and weares Mineruas gloue:
    And tell the world, that in the world there is
    A heauen on earth, on earth no heauen but this.

Those words were uttered as in pensive mood
We turned, departing from that solemn sight:
A contrast and reproach to gross delight,
And life's unspiritual pleasures daily wooed!
But now upon this thought I cannot brood;
It is unstable as a dream of night;
Nor will I praise a cloud, however bright,
Disparaging Man's gifts, and proper food.
Grove, isle, with every shape of sky-built dome,
Though clad in colours beautiful and pure,
Find in the heart of man no natural home:
The immortal Mind craves objects that endure:
These cleave to it; from these it cannot roam,
Nor they from it: their fellowship is secure.

("I believe ... in the resurrection of the body.")

How young you are, for such lone majesty

Of silence and repose!
That lip was vowed to laughter and that eye,

That white cheek to the rose!

What age your spirit hath, who thinks to say?

If young, or young no more;
But all for merriment, oh, all for play.

That new, sweet shape it wore!

So, in His time, to whom all time is now.

From flower and wind and steep.
Shall He not summon you to keep your vow,

Since He hath made you sleep?

    Achilles awoke in his ancient tomb
    Hard by the coast of Troy;
    He rattled his armor now full of dust
    And rubbed his eyes like a boy,
    As he gazed on the ships of the allied fleet,
    Ploughing the seas from afar,
    Bent on their course to the Dardanelles
    'Neath the light of Victory's star.

    "Why, I've been asleep," Achilles said,
    "On the windy plains of Troy;
    Three thousand years have turned to dust
    With their maddening mirth and joy;
    Yet it seems but a day since Ilium fell,
    Since Sinon spun out his tale,
    And the Greeks returned from Tenedos
    With a light and prosperous gale.

    "Three thousand years is a long, long time,
    But I'll doze for a thousand more;
    For I'm sick of the...

SPOKEN BY MR HART.


    Poets, your subjects have their parts assign'd
    To unbend, and to divert their sovereign's mind:
    When tired with following nature, you think fit
    To seek repose in the cool shades of wit,
    And, from the sweet retreat, with joy survey
    What rests, and what is conquer'd, of the way.
    Here, free yourselves from envy, care, and strife
    You view the various turns of human life:
    Safe in our scene, through dangerous courts you go,
    And, undebauch'd, the vice of cities know.
    Your theories are here to practice brought,
    As in mechanic operations wrought;
    And man, the little world, before you set,
    As once the sphere[1] of crystal show'd the great.
    Blest, sure, are you above all mort...