He hath left his sword behind him-he hath flung his shield away; Open-handed, open-breasted, down he rushes to the fray. With a wide embrace he clasps ten lances in a single sheaf, Throws his manly bosom on them—and his death is bold and brief. Where he bends those lances downward, there's an opening in the ranks ; Now the raging stream may burst its old impenetrable banks. Arnold lives one glorious moment-lives to see his death repaid, Lives to see his comrades leap upon the gap that he hath made. ** It may be as well to say, that this is an attempt to imitate the Trochaic metre of Mr. Tennyson's great Poem, "Locksley Hall.” "THERE IS A WORLD MADE FOR US.” Letter to Lord Ashley from a Milliner.—Times, Mar. 2 Of summer-breathing fields were wrought for thee? Tell out thy injuries for the rich to rue, ANTIGONE. Paraphrased from Eurip. Phoem. vss. 163–172. Yes, yes, I do; I look for him But ah! it is so faint and dim, Oh! that I Could leap and fly, That I could haste Like a cloudlet chased By a summer wind through a summer sky, His beauty is like the breaking day, And the glance that darts from that kindling eye, Man, that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of A year misery.-Burial Service. hath passed since thou wert borne To the dark silent grave, And none on earth to me forlorn A loving comfort gave; It seemed all mortal bliss was gone, My life was like a gloomy day The fleeting brilliance fled away, And left a darker, drearier night All my fierce passions sunk to rest I voyaged on a summer sea The dark sad youth thou didst not spurn, But when thou braved'st withering scorn, My spirit's utter happiness. Nought had gone well with me before, All smiled upon me now; With fair winds down life's stream we bore It was a dream too bright to last; They say when thou wert lying dead, I spoke no word-no tears I shed As though their springs were dry. I cannot tell, I only know I saw not, heard not, for my woe. Dim and confused seemed all things round, When mens' eyes, though their sense is bound, Only it seemed the passing bell Crushed my bruised heart beneath each knell. The funeral past, in order meet, Uprose that wondrous prayer; Thy form half seen before me hung, The trance passed by, and I awoke, The solemn truth upon me broke Then gushing tears poured down my cheek, The sullen cloud dissolved in rain ; The hard parched earth was wet; This gnarled cedar's branches wave The fleecy clouds, the sunny air, An eloquent beauty seem to wear. They bid me not to pour my grief, Some brighter flowers to twine; So thou art passed the veil within, To strive against my load of sin If haply it may yet be given To join thee once again in heaven. THE VIGIL OF COLUMBUS. 1. The homeless guest of Rabida On the silent chapel-floor, Of sloth and fear, By the puny mindlings taught By the smiles that fade away, Who have duped him with delay, Year after year. Poor-weak and old before his time, Panting all the while |