And well may they be beautiful; they toil not, neither
spin,
Nor dig, nor delve, nor do they aught their daily
bread to win.

10*

P

The children of the poor man, around the humble doors

They throng of city alleys and solitary moors.

In hot and noisy factories they turn the ceaseless wheel,

And eat with feeble appetite their coarse and joyless meal.

They rise up in the morning, ne'er dreaming of delight;

And weary, spent, and heart-sore, they go to bed at night.

They have no brave apparel, with golden clasp and gem;

So their clothes keep out the weather they're good enough for them.

Their hands are broad and horny; they hunger, and are cold;

They learn what toil and sorrow mean ere they are five years old.

-The poor man's child must step aside if the rich man's child go by;

And scarcely aught may minister to his little vanity.

THE TWO ESTATES.

The children of the rich old man no carking care And of what could he be vain? - his most beautiful they know, array

Like lilies in the sunshine how beautiful they grow! Is what the rich man's children have worn and cast away. And well may they be beautiful; in raiment of the

The finely spun, the many-hued, the new, are not for him,

best, In velvet, gold, and ermine, their little forms are drest. With a hat and jaunty feather set lightly on their He must clothe himself, with thankfulness, in gar

ments soiled and dim.

head,

And golden hair, like angels' locks, over their shoul- He sees the children of the rich in chariots gay go by, ders spread. And "what a heavenly life is their's," he sayeth with a sigh.

Then straightway to his work he goeth, for feeble though he be,

His daily toil must still be done to help the family.

113

For pardon, pardoning all; my soul was blessed
With answered love, and hopes whereon to rest
My joy in years to come; I asked no more,
The cup of that rich blessedness ran o'er.
Alas! even then the brightness of my life

Again grew dim; my fount of joy was dried;
My soul was doomed to bear a heavier strife

Than it had borne!-my children at my side In their meek, loving beauty, drooped and diedFirst they, and then their mother! Did I weep? No, tears are not for griefs intense and deep!

I had known sorrow, and remorse, and shame,
But never knew I misery till that time;
And in my soul sprang up the torturing blame,

That they had died for my unpardoned crime !
Then madness followed; and my manhood's prime
Passed like a dark and hideous dream away,
Without a memory left of night or day.

Ah me! those weary days, those painful nights,
When voices from the dead were in mine ear,
And I had visions of my lost delights,

And saw the lovely and the loving near,

Then woke and knew my home so dim and drear! Through the great cities of the East I passed What marvel if I prayed that I might die, In my soul's great, unchastened misery!

Into the kingdom where he reigned supreme; I came unto a gorgeous palace, vast

As the creation of a poet's dream :

I dwelt within my childhood's home, and yet
I wist not of each dear familiar place;
My soul was in a gloomy darkness set,

Engulphed in deadness for a season's space.
At length light beamed; a ray of heavenly grace
Upon my bowed and darkened spirit lay,
Healing its wounds and giving power to pray.
I rose a sorrowing man, and yet renewed:

Resigned, although abashed to the dust;
I felt that God was righteous, true, and good,
And though severe in awful judgment, just;
Therefore in him I put undoubting trust,
And walked once more among my fellow-men,
Yet in their vain joys mingling not again.

"I will arise," I cried, like him of yore.

The conscience-stricken prodigal, and lay
Myself, as in the dust, his face before,

And, I have sinned, my brother! I will say -
'Forgive, forgive! The clouds shall pass away,
And I will banquet on his love; and rest
My weary soul on his sustaining breast!"

My home was still a solitude; none sought
Nor found in me companion; yet I pined
For something which might win my weary thought
From its deep anguish; some strong, generous mind,
Round which my lorn affections might be twined:
Some truthful heart on which mine own might lean,
And still from life some scattered comfort glean.
The dead, alas! I sorrowed for the dead,

Until well-nigh my madness had returned;
Till memory of them grew a thing of dread,

And therefore towards a living friend I yearned.
My brother! then my soul unto thee turned;
Then pined I for thy spirit's buoyant play,
Like the chained captive for the light of day!
The kindness of his youth came back to me;

I saw his form in visions of the night;
I seemed to hear his footsteps light and free
Upon my floors; the memoried delight
Of his rich voice came back with sweeter might!
Perchance 'twas madness-so I often thought,
For with insatiate zeal in me it wrought.

I gathered up my strength; I asked of none
Council or aid; I crossed the desert sea;
The purpose of my soul, to all unknown,
Was yet supporting energy to me.

I was like one from cruel bonds set free,
Who walks exulting on, yet telleth not
The all-sufficing gladness of his lot.

My strength gave way, how little did I seem'
I felt like Joseph's brethren, mean and base,
I turned aside and dared not meet his face.

Hard by there was a grove of cypress trees;

A place, as if for mourning spirits made;
Thither I sped, my burdened heart to ease,

And weep unseen within the secret shade. —
A mighty woe that cypress grove displayed!
Oh let me weep! you will not say that tears
Wrung by that sorrow can be stanched by years.

There was a tomb; a tomb as of a king;

A gorgeous palace of the unconscious dead.
My heart died in me, like the failing wing

Of the struck bird, as on that wall I read
My brother's name! Feeling and memory fled;
The flood-gates of my misery gave way,
And senseless on the marble floor I lay.

I lay for hours; and when my sense returned
The day was o'er; no moon was in the sky,
But the thick-strewn, eternal planets burned
In their celestial beauty steadfastly; -
It seemed each star was as a heavenly eye
Looking upon my sorrow; thus 1 deemed,
And sate within the tomb till morning beamed.

-For this I crossed the sea: in those far wilds,

Through perils numberless, for this I went! What followed next I tell not: as a child's

Again my soul was feeble; too much spent
To suffer as of old, or to lament.

I came back to the scenes where life began,
By griefs, not years, a bowed and aged man.

I murmur not; but with submissive will
Resign to woe the evening of my day;
On the great morrow love will have its fill;
God will forgive our poor repentant clay,
Nor thrust us from his paradise away!
But brethren, be ye warned! Oh do not sever
Your kindred hearts, which should be linked
For ever!