Part 24 (2/2)

The lark that soars so high is quick to sing, And proud to yield allegiance to the spring.

XIV.

And we who serve ourselves, whate'er befall Athwart the dangers of the day's behests, Oh, let's not s.h.i.+rk, at joy or sorrow's call, The service due to G.o.d who serves us all!

SYLVIA IN THE WEST.

I.

What shall be done? I cannot pray; And none shall know the pangs I feel.

If prayers could alter night to day,-- Or black to white,--I might appeal; I might attempt to sway thy heart, And prove it mine, or claim a part.

II.

I might attempt to urge on thee At least the chance of some redress:-- An hour's revoke,--a moment's plea,-- A smile to make my sorrows less.

I might indeed be taught in time To blush for hope, as for a crime!

III.

But thou art stone, though soft and fleet,-- A statue, not a maiden, thou!

A man may hear thy bosom beat When thou hast sworn some idle vow.

But not for love, no! not for this; For thou wilt sell thy bridal kiss.

IV.

I mean, thy friends will sell thy love, As loves are sold in England, here.

A man will buy my golden dove,-- I doubt he'll find his bargain dear!

He'll lose the wine; he'll buy the bowl, The life, the limbs, but not the soul.

V.

So, take thy mate and all his wealth, And all the joys that wait on fame.

Thou'lt weep,--poor martyr'd one!--by stealth, And think of me, and shriek my name; Yes, in his arms! And wake, too late, To coax and kiss the man you hate.

VI.

By slow degrees, from year to year, From week to week, from night to night, He will be taught how dark and drear Is barter'd love,--how sad to sight A perjured face! He will be driven To compa.s.s h.e.l.l,--and dream of Heaven.

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