Part 16 (1/2)

Then should we learn From the p.r.i.c.king of his chart How the skyey roadways part.

Hus.h.!.+ does not the baby this way bring, To lay beside this severed curl, Some starry offering Of chrysolite or pearl?

Ah, no! not so!

We may follow on his track, But he comes not back.

And yet I dare aver He is a brave discoverer Of climes his elders do not know.

He has more learning than appears On the scroll of twice three thousand years, More than in the groves is taught, Or from furthest Indies brought; He knows, perchance, how spirits fare,-- What shapes the angels wear, What is their guise and speech In those lands beyond our reach,-- And his eyes behold Things that shall never, never be to mortal hearers told.

E.C. STEDMAN.

At Last.[4]

When first the bride and bridegroom wed, They love their single selves the best; A sword is in the marriage bed, Their separate slumbers are not rest.

They quarrel, and make up again, They give and suffer worlds of pain.

Both right and wrong, They struggle long, Till some good day, when they are old, Some dark day, when the bells are tolled, Death having taken their best of life, They lose themselves, and find each other; They know that they are husband, wife, For, weeping, they are Father, Mother!

R.H. STODDARD.

[4] From ”The Poems of R.H. Stoddard,” copyright 1880, by Charles Scribner's Sons.

”Thalatta.”

CRY OF THE TEN THOUSAND.

I stand upon the summit of my years.

Behind, the toil, the camp, the march, the strife, The wandering and the desert; vast, afar, Beyond this weary way, behold! the Sea!

The sea o'erswept by clouds and winds and wings, By thoughts and wishes manifold, whose breath Is freshness and whose mighty pulse is peace.

Palter no question of the dim Beyond; Cut loose the bark; such voyage itself is rest; Majestic motion, unimpeded scope, A widening heaven, a current without care.

Eternity!--Deliverance, Promise, Course!

Time-tired souls salute thee from the sh.o.r.e.

J.B. BROWN.

Gondolieds.

I.

YESTERDAY.

Dear yesterday, glide not so fast; Oh, let me cling To thy white garments floating past; Even to shadows which they cast I cling, I cling.

Show me thy face Just once, once more; a single night Cannot have brought a loss, a blight Upon its grace.