Conquering, from the East-ward,
Lords by land and sea.
Come and strong within us
Stir the Vikings' blood,
Bracing brain and sinew!
Blow! thou Wind of God!

THE SANDS OF DEE.

"O Mary! go and call the cattle home,And call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home

Across the sands of Dee!"

The Western wind was wild and dank with foam, And all alone went she.

The creeping tide came up along the sand,
And o'er and o'er the sand,

And round and round the sand,

As far as eye could see;

The blinding mist came down and hid the land; And never home came she.

"O, is it weed or fish or floating hair,
A tress of golden hair,

A drowned maiden's hair,
Above the nets, at sea?

Was never salmon yet that shone so fair
Among the stakes on Dee."

They row'd her in across the rolling foam,

The cruel crawling foam,

The cruel hungry foam,

To her grave beside the sea:

But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home Across the sands of Dee.

A HOPE.

Twins stars, aloft in ether clear,
Around each other roll alway,
Within one common atmosphere
Of their own mutual light and day.

And myriad happy eyes are bent

Upon their changeless love alway:
As, strengthen'd by their one intent,
They pour the flood of life and day.

So we through this world's waning night
May, hand in hand, pursue our way;
Shed round us order, love, and light,
And shine unto the perfect day.

Lacks my Love aught that I should long?

Dark the Night, with breath all flowers,
And tender broken voice that fills
With ravishment the listening hours,—
Whisperings, wooings,

Liquid ripples, and soft ring-dove cooings
In low-toned rhythm that love's aching stills!
Dark the Night: yet is she bright,

For in her dark she brings the mystic star,
Trembling yet strong as is the voice of love,
From some unknown afar.

O radiant Dark! O darkly foster'd Ray!
Thou hast a joy too deep for shallow Day.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

1819

HEBE.

I saw the twinkle of white feet,

I saw the flash of robes descending,—
Before her ran an influence fleet

That bow'd my heart, like barley bending.

As in bare fields the searching bees
Pilot to blooms beyond our finding,
It led me on,-by sweet degrees,
Joy's simple honey-cells unbinding.

Those Graces were that seem'd grim Fates;
With nearer love the sky lean'd o'er me;
The long-sought secret's golden gates
On musical hinges swung before me.

I saw the brimm'd bowl in her grasp,
Thrilling with godhood; like a lover,
I sprang the proffer'd life to clasp:
The beaker fell, the luck was over.

The earth has drunk the vintage up:
What boots it patch the goblet's splinters?
Can Summer fill the icy cup

Whose treacherous crystal is but Winter's ?

O spendthrift Haste! Await the Gods!
Their nectar crowns the lips of Patience.
Haste scatters on unthankful sods
The immortal gift in vain libations.

Coy Hebe flies from those that woo,

And shuns the hands would seize upon her; Follow thy life, and she will sue

To pour for thee the cup of honour!

THE COURTIN'.

God makes sech nights, all white an' still

Fur'z you can look or listen, Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill, All silence an' all glisten—

Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown

An' peek'd in thru' the winder,

An' there sot Huldy all alone,
'Ith no one nigh to hender.

A fire-place fill'd the room's one side
With half a cord o' wood in,—
There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died)
To bake ye to a puddin'.

The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out

Towards the Pootiest, bless her!
An' leetle flames danced all about
The chiny on the dresser.

Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung,
An' in amongst 'em rusted,

The ole queen's-arm that gran'ther Young
Fetch'd back from Concord busted.

The very room, coz she was in,

Seem'd warm from floor to ceilin',

An' she look'd full ez rosy agin
Ez the apples she was peelin'.

'Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look
On sech a blessed cretur :
A dog-rose blushin' to a brook
Ain't modester nor sweeter.

He was six foot o' man, A I,
Clean grit an' human natur';
None couldn't quicker pitch a ton,
Nor dror a furrer straighter.

He'd spark'd it with full twenty gals,

He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em,
Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells :
All is, he couldn't love 'em.

But long o' her his veins 'ould run
All crinkly, like curl'd maple;
The side she bresh'd felt full o' sun
Ez a South slope in A'pil.

She thought no v'ice hed such a swing
Ez hisn in the choir;

My! when he made Old Hundred ring,
She know'd the Lord was nigher.

An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer,
When her new meetin'-bunnet
Felt somehow thru' its crown a pair
O' blue eyes sot upon it.

That night, I tell ye, she look'd some !
She seem'd to've gut a new soul,
For she felt sartin-sure he'd come,
Down to her very shoe-sole.

She heer'd a foot, an' know'd it tu,
A-raspin' on the scraper,-
All ways to once her feelins flew
Like sparks in burnt-up paper.

He kin' o' l'iter'd on the mat,
Some doubtfle o' the sekle;
His heart kep' going pity-pat,
But hern went pity Zekle.

An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk

Ez though she wish'd him furder, An' on her apples kep' to work, Parin' away like murder.