Nor, though the sun of day be shrouded quite,

Swerve from the narrow path to left or right.

ON THE HILL-SIDE.

THE winds behind me in the thicket sigh,

The bees fly droning on laborious wing,

Pink cloudlets scarcely float across the sky.

September stillness broods o'er everything.

Deep peace is in my soul: I seem to hear

Catullus murmuring, "Let us live and love;

Suns rise and set, and fill the rolling year

Which bears us deathward, therefore let us love;

Pour forth the wine of kisses, let them flow,

And let us drink our fill before we die."

Hush! in the thicket still the breezes blow; [sky; Pink cloudlets sail across the azure The bees warp lazily on laden wing;

Beauty and stillness brood o'er everything..

NEW LIFE, NEW LOVE.

APRIL is in;
New loves begin!
Up, lovers all,
The cuckoos call!
Winter is by,

Blue shines the sky,
Primroses blow
Where lay cold snow:
Then why should I
Sit still and sigh?

Death took my dear:
Oh, pain! Oh, fear!
I know not whither,
When flowers did wither,
My summer love
Flew far above.

less fair,

take our fill of loveliness, which breed

This anguish of the soul intemperate;

'Tis self that turns to pain and poisonous hate

The calm clear life of love the angels lead.

breathed this air.

Of soul-commingling friendship passion-fraught.

THE PONTE DI PARADISO.

Of all the mysteries wherethrough

we move,

This is the most mysterious - that a face,

Seen peradventure in some distant place,

Whither we can return no more to prove

burn

In the pure flames of joy contemplative!

THE PRAYER TO MNEMOS YNE. LADY, when first the message came

to me

Of thy great hope and all thy future bliss,

I had no envy of that happiness Which sets a limit to our joy in thee: But uttering orisons to gods who see Our mortal strife, and bidding them

to bless

With increase of pure good thy

goodliness,

I made unto the mild Mnemosyne More for myself than thee one prayer -that when

Our paths are wholly severed, and thy years

Glide among other cares and far-off

men,

She may watch over thee, as one

who hears

The music of the past, and in thine

ears

Murmur "They live and love thee now as then."

SONNETS FROM “INTELLECTUAL

ISOLATION."

NAY, Soul, though near to dying, do

not this!

It may be that the world and all its ways

Seem but spent ashes of extinguished days

And love, the phantom of imagined

bliss;

Yet what is man among the mysteries Whereof the young-eyed angels

sang their praise? Thou know'st not. Lone and wildered in the maze,

See that life's crown thou dost not idly miss.

Is friendship fickle? Hast thou found her so?

Is God more near thee on that homeless sea

Than by the hearths where children come and go? Perchance some rotten root of sin in thee

Hath made thy garden cease to bloom and glow:

Hast thou no need from thine own self to flee?

Ir is the centre of the soul that ails: We carry with us our own heart's disease;

And craving the impossible, we freeze

To him who else were lonely, that another

Of the great family is near, and feels.

ON THE RECEPTION OF WORDSWORTH AT OXFORD.

Ou!

never did a mighty truth prevail

With such felicities of place and time

As in those shouts sent forth with joy sublime

Fram the full heart of England's youth, to hail

Her once neglected bard within the pale

Of Learning's fairest citadel! That voice,

In which the future thunders, bids rejoice

Some who through wintry fortunes did not fail

To bless with love as deep as life, the name

Thus welcomed; - who in happy silence share

The triumph; while their fondest musings claim

Unhoped-for echoes in the joyous air,

That to their long-loved poet's spirit

bear.

A nation's promise of undying fame.