The Passions.

(Verse printed as prose.)

When Music, (heavenly maid!) was young, ere yet in earliest Greece she sung, the Passions oft, to hear her shell, thronged around her magic cell: exulting, trembling ;raging,—fainting;-possessed beyond the Muses's painting. By turns they felt the glowing mind disturbed,—delighted, raised,—refined; till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, filled with fury, rapt, inspired, from the supporting myrtles round they snatched her instruments of sound; and as they oft had heard, apart, sweet lessons of her forceful art, each-for madness ruled the hour-would prove his own expressive power.

First, Fear-his hand, its skill to try, amid the chords bewildered laid-and back recoiled-he knew not why :-even at the sound himself had made!

Next Anger rushed, his eyes on fire: in lightnings owned his secret stings; with one rude clash he struck the lyre, and swept, with hurried hands, the strings.

With woeful measures, wan Despair :-low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled; a solemn, strange, and mingled air; 'twas sad, by fits-by starts, 'twas wild.

But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair, what was thy delighted measure? Still it whispered promised pleasure, and bade the lovely scenes at distance "Hail!" Still would her touch the strain prolong; and, from the rocks, the woods, the vale, she called on "Echo," still, through all her song; and, where her sweetest theme she chose, a soft, responsive voice was heard at every close!—and Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair!

And longer had she sung-but, with a frown, Revenge impatient rose: he threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down; and with a withering look, the war-denouncing trumpet took, and blew a blast-so loud and dread, were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe: and ever and anon, he beat the doubling drum, with furious heat. And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, dejected Pity, at his side, her soul-subduing

voice applied, yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien; while each strained ball of sight-seemed bursting from his head.

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixed; sad proof of thy distressful state ! Of differing themes the veering song was mixed; and now, it courted Love-now, raving, called on Hate.

With eyes upraised, as one inspired, pale Melancholy sat retired; and from her wild, sequestered seat, in notes by distance made more sweet, poured, through the mellow horn, her pensive soul: and, dashing soft, from rocks around, bubbling runnels joined the sound. Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole; or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay,―round a holy calm diffusing, love of peace and lonely musing,-in hollow murmurs died away.

But, oh, how altered was its sprightlier tone, when Cheerfulness-a nymph of healthiest hue,-her bow across her shoulder flung, her buskins gemmed with morning dew,-blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung; the hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known. The oak-crowned Sisters, and their chaste eyed Queen, Satyrs, and Sylvan Boys were seen peeping from forth their alleys green: brown "Exercise" ejoiced to hear; and "Sport" leaped up, and seized his beechen.

spear.

Last, came Joy's ecstatic trial; he, with viny crown advancing, first to the lively pipe his hand addressed; but soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, whose sweet, entrancing voice he loved the best. They would have thought who heard the strain, they saw, in Tempès vale, her native maids, amid the festal sounding shades to some unwearied minstrel dancing; while, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, Love framed, with Mirth, a gay, fantastic round:-loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound:—and he, amidst his frolic play, as if he would the charming air repay, shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix (16-.)

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate bolts undrew; "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

II.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;
I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,
Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,
Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit,
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

III.

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near
Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;
At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;
At Duffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be;

And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime,
So, Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!"

IV.

At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,

And against him the cattle stood black every one,
To stare thro' the mist at us galloping past,
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,
With resolute shoulders, each butting away
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray,

V.

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;
And one eye's black intelligence,-ever that glance
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance !
And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon
His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

VI.

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur! 'Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, "We'll remember at Aix "-for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,

As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

VII.

So, we were left galloping, Joris and I,

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;
The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,

'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff;
Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,
And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!"

VIII.

"How they'll greet us!"—and all in a moment his roan
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,
And with circles of red for his eye sockets' rim.

IX.

Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall,
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,
Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer;
Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,
Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

X.

And all I remember is—friends flocking round
As I sat with head 'twixt my knees on the ground;
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,
As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)

Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.

Evelyn Hope.

I.

Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead!
Sit and watch by her side an hour.
That is her book-shelf, this her bed ;
She plucked that piece of geranium flower,
Beginning to die too, in the glass;

Little has yet been changed, I think:
The shutters are shut, no light may pass
Save two long rays thro' the hinge's chink.

LI.

Sixteen years old when she died!

Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name;
It was not her time to love; beside,
Her life had many a hope and aim,
Duties enough and little cares,

And now was quiet, now astir,

Till God's hand beckoned unawares

And the sweet white brow is all of her.

Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope?
What, your soul was pure and true,
The good stars met in your horoscope,
Made you of spirit, fire and dew-
And, just because I was thrice as old

And our paths in the world diverged so wide,

Each was nought to each, must I be told?

We were fellow mortals, nought beside?