Part 44 (1/2)

LXXV THE CLOUD CONFINES

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI--1828-1882

The day is dark and the night To him that would search their heart; No lips of cloud that will part Noralone, To hiht above unknown height

Still we say as we go,-- ”Strange to think by the way, Whatever there is to know, That shall we know one day”

The Past is over and fled; Named nee name it the old; Thereof some tale hath been told, But no word comes from the dead; Whether at all they be, Or whether as bond or free, Or whether they too e, Or by what spell they have sped

Still we say as we go,-- ”Strange to think by the way, Whatever there is to know, That shall we know one day”

What of the heart of hate That beats in thy breast, O Tiuish of fierce debate; War that shatters her slain, And peace that grinds therain, And eyes fix'd ever in vain On the pitiless eyes of Fate

Still we say as we go,-- ”Strange to think by the way, Whatever there is to know, That shall we know one day”

What of the heart of love That bleeds in thy breast, O Man?-- Thy kisses snatch'd 'neath the ban Of fangs that 'd unto knells, Thy hope that a breath dispels, Thy bitter forlorn farewells And the ee to think by the way, Whatever there is to know, That shall we know one day”

The sky leans du the sea sings Is dark everlastingly

Our past is clean forgot, Our present is and is not, Our future's a seal'd seedplot, And what betwixt thee to think by the way, Whatever there is to know, That shall we know one day”

LXXVI BARBARA FRIETCHIE

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER--1807-

Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn,

The cluster'd spires of Frederick stand Green-wall'd by the hills of Maryland

Round about them orchards sweep, Apple and peach tree fruited deep,--

Fair as a garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famish'd rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early fall When Lee march'd over thedown, Horse and foot, into Frederick town

Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their cri wind: the sun Of noon look'd down, and saw not one

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Boith her fourscore years and ten;

Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men haul'd down;