Shall meet thee in the shade And pray thee for the doom thou wilt not wreak. Yet shalt thou help the frail From the phantoms that assail,— Yea! the strong man in his anger shalt thou dare; Thy voice shall be a song Against Wickedness and Wrong, But the wicked and the wronger thou wilt spare. And, while thou lead'st the van, The ungrateful hand of man Shall smite thee down and slay thee unaware. With an agonized cry Thou shalt shiver down, and die, With stained shirt of mail and broken brand; "He has fallen like us all, Though the weapon of the Lord was in his hand : And thine epitaph shall be "He was wretched even as we; "" And thy tomb may be unhonour'd in the land. But the basest of the base Shall bless thy pale dead face,; And the thief shall steal a bloody lock of hair : The adulteress shall weep Such tears as she can never shed elsewhere, In thy chill and nerveless hand, Shall kiss thy stained vesture, with a prayer. Then, while in that chill place Gather'd round thee in the silence of the dark, A white Face shall look down On the silence of the town And see thee lying dead, with those to mark; "Bear my Warrior lying there To his sleep upon my Breast!" and they shall hark. Lo! then those fallen things There shall grow a wondrous light, While they hide affrighted faces on the sod: They shall raise their eyes, and mark ROBERT BRIDGES. 1844 THE SEA-POPPY. A Poppy grows upon the shore Oft to her cousins turns her thought, She has no lovers like the Red EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE. 1849 THE SUPPLIANT. Beneath the poplars o'er the sacred pool Perchance the Goddess, at the twilight's breath, So when at moon-rise by the farm I go, THEOPHILE MARZIALS. 1850 RONDEL. To-day what is there in the air That makes December seem sweet May? To-day is here: come! crown to-day To-day. PAKENHAM THOMAS BEATTY. 1855 IN MY DREAMS. Come to me in my dreams, and say And I will whisper all night through My hopes I had, my life I plann'd, Rest with me, Love! until the day; ANDREW LANG. 1844 IN ITHACA. 'Tis thought Odysseus, when the strife was o'er With all the waves and wars, a weary while, Grew restless in his disenchanted isle, And still would watch the sunset, from the shore, The life that might have been is lost to thee. WILLIAM DAVIES. 1829 DOING AND BEING. Think not alone to do right and fulfil To be right, that its good's spontaneous birth |