The dawning light of Knowledge smites thee now, And forth from the dim Past come voices clear, Falling in solemn music on the ear, Which, as the haloes brighten on thy brow, Shall still in richer harmonies draw near.

The Past comes back in music soft and sweet, And lo! the Present like a strung harp stands Waiting the sweeping of prophetic hands, To send its living music, loud and fleet, Careering calmly through unnumber'd lands.

Then swift uprise, thou Sun, thou Music-Maker!

Smiting the chords of Life with gladsome rays, Till from each Memnon burst the song of praise, From lips which thou hast freed, O silence-breaker!

That over Earth the sound may swell always.

NOTE--It will of course be remembered that the celebrated statue of Memnon was believed to utter lugubrious and mournful sounds at sunset, and during the hours of darkness, which changed to sounds of joy as the first rays of morning fell upon it.

A CONCEIT.

The Grey-beard Winter sat alone and still, Locking his treasures in the flinty earth; And like a miser comfortless and chill, Frown'd upon pleasure and rejected mirth;

But Spring came, gentle Spring, the young, the fair, And with her smiles subdued his frosty heart, So that for very joy to see her there, His soul, relenting, play'd the lover's part;

And nought could bring too lovely or too sweet, To lavish on the bright Evangel's head; No flowers too radiant for her tender feet; No joys too blissful o'er her life to shed.

And thus the land became a Paradise, A new-made Eden, redolent of joy, Where beauty blossom'd under sunny skies, And peaceful pleasure reign'd without alloy.

THE LAND'S END.

I stood on the Land's End, alone and still.

Man might have been unmade, for no frail trace Of mortal labour startled the wild place, And only sea-mews with their wailing shrill, Circled beneath me over the dark sea, Flashing the waves with pinions snowy white, That glimmer'd faintly in the gloomy light Betwixt the foaming furrows constantly.

It was a mighty cape, that proudly rose Above the world of waters, high and steep, With many a scar and fissure fathoms deep, Upon whose ledges lodged the endless snows; A n.o.ble brow to a firm-founded world, That at the limits of its empire stood, Fronting the ocean in its roughest mood, And all its fury calmly backward hurl'd.

The Midnight Sun rose like an angry G.o.d, Girt round with clouds, through which a lurid glow Fev'rously trembled to the waves below, And smote the waters with a fiery rod; Above, the glory circled up the sky, Fainter and fainter to the sullen grey, Till the black under-drift of clouds away Went with the gathering wind, and let it die.

A moaning sound swept o'er the heaving ocean, Toss'd hoa.r.s.ely on from angry crest to crest, Like groans from a great soul in its unrest, Stirring the ranks of men to fierce commotion.

My longing vision measured the wide waste, "This cannot be the end of things; that man Should see his path lead on so short a span, And then the unstable ocean mock his haste!

Better have stay'd where I could still look on, And see a st.u.r.dy world to bear my feet, Than thus outstrip the mult.i.tude to cheat Earth of its knowledge, and here find it gone."

A Shadow rose betwixt me and the sky, Out of the Ocean, as it seem'd, that set A perfect shape before mine eyes, and yet Hid not the sky that did behind it lie; But, through its misty substance, all things grew Faint, pale, and ghostly, and the risen sun Gleam'd like a fiery globe half quench'd and dun, Through the sere shadow which the spectre threw: It answer'd me, "Man! this is not the end; Progression ceaseth not until the goal Of all perfection stop the running soul, Whither through life its aspirations tend.

Spring from thy height, then, for till thou art free From earth, thy course is narrow and restrain'd!"

I said, "No! Spirit, nought were thus attain'd; Better pause here than perish in the sea; Man can but do his utmost--there's a length He cannot overleap." The spectre smiled, "Then trust to me; for though the sea be wild, It cannot shake the sinews of my strength,-- Within my breast the fearful fall asleep, And wake out of their terrors, calm and still, Having outstripp'd the speed of time and ill, And pa.s.s'd unconsciously the stormy deep."

Quicker and quicker drew I in my breath, "If there be land beyond, receive me now; I'll trust in thee--but, Spirit, who art thou?"

The winds bore on a murmur, "I am Death!"

THE OLDEN TIME.

O! well I mind the olden time, The sweet, sweet olden time; When I did long for eve all day, And watch'd upon the new-mown gra.s.s The shadows slowly eastward pa.s.s, And o'er the meadows glide away, Till I could steal, with heart elate, Unto the little cottage-gate, In the sweet, sweet olden time.

O! well I mind the olden time, The sweet, sweet olden time; How all the night I long'd for morn, And bless'd the thrush whose early note The silver chords of silence smote With greetings to the day new-born; For then again, with heart elate, I hoped to meet her at the gate, In the sweet, sweet olden time.

But now hath pa.s.s'd the olden time, That sweet, sweet olden time; And there is neither morn nor night That bears a freight of hopes and fears, To bless my soul in coming years With any harvest of delight; For never more, with heart elate, Can I behold her at the gate, As in the sweet, sweet olden time.

For the sake of that dear olden time, That sweet, sweet olden time, I look forth ever sadly still, And hope the time may come again, When Life hath borne its meed of pain, And stoutly struggled up the hill, When I once more, with heart elate, May meet her at _another_ gate, Beyond the blighting breath of fate, That chill'd the sweet, sweet olden time.

FATHER AND SON.

The King call'd forth his first-born, and took him by the hand, "Come! boy, and see the people you must soon command:

A bold and stalwart nation, dauntless in the fight, Strong as an iron buckler to guard their monarch's right."

Then the trumpets sounded, and his va.s.sals came, Gather'd round his banner, loudly rang his name;

Clash'd their burnish'd targets, waved their flashing steel A goodly gath'ring look'd they, arm'd from head to heel.

"Child! my heart beats proudly, now I feel a king, As I look around me on this martial ring;

There I see the sinews that support a state, There I see the strength that makes a monarch great.

Men whose life is glory--men whose death is fame, Living still in story past the reach of shame."

Many years pa.s.s'd over--the old King was dead, And his child, his first-born, reigned in his stead.

Many years he reigned, and upon his brow Now the frost of age lay like the winter's snow.

So he took his son forth, as his father had, "Come! and see thy people," said he to the lad.

And they rode together through the busy town: Many a peaceful merchant pa.s.sing up and down;

Loud the workman's hammer sounded through the air Portly look'd the craftsmen, standing 'mid their ware;

And the sounds of labour, blent with cheerful song, Told of peace and plenty as they rode along.

Smith and craftsman pausing, youth and smiling la.s.s, Trader, man and master, stood to see them pa.s.s,

With a bonnet lifted, and "G.o.d bless him!" said By many a gentle bosom, many a reverend head.

So the father turn'd him to his son and cried, "Are not these bold subjects worth a monarch's pride?