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III.

ONE'S OWN TOMBSTONE.

IN dream of thought to be among the years
That are not born, like years of long ago,
Who bows not, trembling? Dusk, with steps as slow
As mine, crept through the churchyard, dropping tears
Like one that mourned. Imused and mused;-methought
Some months, some years were gone, and in that spot
Of graves is lingering a thoughtful boy.
Amid the twilight stillness, deep and lone,
He stoops, to read an old half-buried stone,
And weeds the mosses that almost destroy
The letters of the name, which is my own.
The wind about the old gray tower makes moan.
He rises from the grave with saddened brow,
And leaves it to the night, and sighs, as I do now.

JAMES DODDS.

CRAIGCROOK.

(TO JOHN HUNTER.)

I HAVE not found so true a Harmony

As crowns this life of thine, my much-loved friend!
See! the bright roses o'er the violets bend;
The oaks with hazels sing in windy glee ;

The lawn looks coy up to yon gazing hill;

On the same bough are dove and blackbird seen;
And, as we talk under this alley green,

The robin makes a third, with answering trill.

Within, thy home is meet for such a spot :

Thy youthful dreams - how rare! have grown to truth;

Still rarer, life keeps fine as dream of youth;

Rarest and best, this harmony is given,

Thy Real drinks music from Ideal Thought,
And Earth but avenues the gate to Heaven!

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JOHN HUNTER.

I.

A REPLICATION OF RHYMES.

(TO JAMES DOdds.)

THINE Own life too hath reached a Harmony
Of rounder, nobler swell than mine, my friend!
He is the Hero, whose strong soul can bend
A turbulent nature, panting in the glee

Of young ambition to ascend the hill

Where Worldly Greatness, crowned with power, is seen;
And, conqueror of himself, can seek the green

Low vale where true Peace dwells, and list the trill
Of home-bred joys that sanctify the spot.
Earth's dazzling meteors for the Torch of Truth
Thou hast exchanged; and for wild dreams of youth
More glorious aims and nobler gifts are given,
A Soul of power, a well of lofty Thought,

A chastened Hope that ever points to Heaven.

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This is one of the very few English sonnets written on the Italian principle mentioned at page 53 of the Introductory Essay.

II.

ELIA.

A GENTLE spirit, sweet and pure and kind,
Though strangely witted, "high fantastical,"
Who mantles his deep feelings in a pall

Of motley hues, by contrast more combined,
That seems to hide, yet heightens what 's enshrined
who, by a power unknown to all,

Beneath;

Save him alone, can summon at a call

A host of jarring elements, entwined

In wondrous brotherhood,

humor, wild wit,

Quips, cranks, puns, sneers,—with clear sweet thought

profound;

And stinging jests, with honey for the wound ;-
The subtlest lines of all fine powers, split
To their last films, then marvellously spun
In magic web, whose million hues are one!

III.

BLEST Twilight,

AUTUMN TWILIGHT.

(To

season of my soul's best hopes !

How dear to gaze upon thy deepening skies,
Breathing their balm o'er Autumn's mellow dyes!
To list the voice of streamlets down the slopes
Of these sweet uplands, and from out yon copse
To catch the thrush's note, low breathed, like sighs
From Love's too happy heart, when meeting eyes
Transfuse the mutual soul; and, oft as drops
The pale sear leaf, to muse on change and chance,
Yet feel no fears! How should I, loveliest one!
While thou art with me, and in thy deep glance
I read my future fate, undimmed by woes,
Whose course shall, like this day's, move gently on,
In varying beauty, to its last calm close?

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