But if Pluto does it again,

It shall sing out loud his shame.

What hast caught then? what hast caught? Nothing but a poet's thought

Which so light did fall and fix
'Mongst the reeds and flowers of Styx
Yesterday,

Where the Furies made their hay
For a bed of tiger-cubs,

A great fly of Beelzebub's,

The bee of hearts, which mortals name
Cupid, Love, and Fie-for-shame.

HOW MANY TIMES?

How many times do I love thee? Dear!
Tell me how many thoughts there be
In the atmosphere

Of a new-fallen year,

Whose white and sable hours appear
The latest flake of Eternity :-
So many times do I love thee, Dear!

How many times do I love, again?
Tell me how many beads there are
In a silver chain

Of evening rain

Unraveled from the trembling main
And threading the eye of a yellow star :—
So many times do I love again.

SEA SONG.

To sea! to sea! The calm is o'er :
The wanton water leaps in sport,
And rattles down the pebbly shore;

The dolphin wheels, the sea-cows snort,

And unseen mermaids' pearly song
Comes bubbling up the weeds among.

Fling broad the sail! dip deep the oar!
To sea! to sea! the calm is o'er.

To sea! to sea! our wide-wing'd bark
Shall billowy cleave its sunny way,
And with its shadow, fleet and dark,
Break the caved Tritons' azure day :
Like mighty eagles soaring light
O'er antelopes on Alpine height.
The anchor heaves, the ship swings free,
The sail swells full: to sea! to sea!

RICHARD HENGIST HORNE.

1803

GENIUS.

Far out at sea,-the sun was high,
While veer'd the wind and flapp'd the sail,
We saw a snow-white butterfly
Dancing before the fitful gale,

Far out at sea.

The little wanderer, who had lost
His way, of danger nothing knew ;
Settled awhile upon the mast,—
Then flutter'd o'er the waters blue,

Far out at sea.

Above, there gleam'd the boundless sky; Beneath, the boundless ocean sheen;

Between them danced the butterfly,

The spirit-life of this vast scene,—

Far out at sea,

The tiny soul then soar'd away,

Seeking the clouds on fragile wings,

Lured by the brighter, purer ray

Which hope's ecstatic morning brings,—

Far out at sea.

Away he sped with shimmering glee,
Scarce seen, now lost, yet onward borne !
Night comes, with wind and rain, and he
No more will dance before the Morn,
Far out at sea.

He dies, unlike his mates, I ween,
Perhaps not sooner or worse cross'd;
And he hath felt, thought, known, and seen
A larger life and hope-though lost

Far out at sea.

THE LAUREL-SEED.

Marmora findit.

I.

A despot gazed on sun-set clouds,
Then sank to sleep amidst the gleam ;-
Forthwith, a myriad starving slaves
Must realize his lofty dream.

Year upon year, all night and day,

They toil'd, they died—and were replaced ; At length a marble fabric rose,

With cloud-like domes and turrets graced.

No anguish of those herds of slaves

E'er shook one dome or wall asunder,

Nor wars of other mighty Kings,

Nor lustrous javelins of the thunder.

II.

One sunny morn a lonely bird

Pass'd o'er, and dropt a laurel-seed; The plant sprang up amidst the walls Whose chinks were full of moss and weed.

The laurel tree grew large and strong,
Its roots went searching deeply down;

It split the marble walls of Wrong,

And blossom'd o'er the Despot's crown.

And in its boughs a nightingale

Sings to those world-forgotten graves ; And o'er its head a skylark's voice Consoles the spirits of the slaves.

SOLITUDE AND THE LILY.

THE LILY.

I bend above the moving stream,
And see myself in my own dream,—
Heaven passing, while I do not pass.
Something divine pertains to me,
Or I to it reality

Escapes me on this liquid glass.

SOLITUDE.

The changeful clouds that float or poise on high
Emblem earth's night and day of history :
Renew'd for ever, evermore to die.

Thy life-dream is thy fleeting loveliness;
But mine is concentrated consciousness,
A life apart from pleasure or distress.
The grandeur of the Whole
Absorbs my soul,

While my caves sigh o'er human littleness.

THE LILY.

Ah, Solitude!

Of marble Silence fit abode,—

I do prefer my fading face,

My loss of loveliness and grace,

With cloud-dreams ever in my view;

Also the hope that other eyes

May share my rapture in the skies

And, if illusion, feel it true.

THE PLOUGH.

Above yon sombre swell of land

Thou seest the dawn's grave orange hue, With one pale streak like yellow sand, And over that a vein of blue.

The air is cold above the woods;
All silent is the earth and sky,
Except with his own lonely moods
The blackbird holds a colloquy.

Over the broad hill creeps a beam,

Like hope that gilds a good man's brow; And now ascends the nostril-steam

Of stalwart horses come to plough.

Ye rigid Ploughmen! bear in mind
Your labor is for future hours.
Advance! spare not! nor look behind!
Plough deep and straight with all your powers!

On me, on me

DIRGE.

Time and Change can heap no more!

The painful past with blighting grief

Hath left my heart a wither'd leaf :
Time and Change can do no more.

Earth's barbed woes

Poised on the breath of Fate's dull roar !

Ye move me not, nor breed one fear;

I wait your coming, and can bear :
Time and Change can do no more.