THE MONKS' DAFFODILS.

MEN live for earth; they think for earth;
They fret themselves with earthly ills:

And yet they soon are less to earth

Than trees, and shrubs, and daffodils.

I know a field that, year by year,

Is brightened by these golden flowers; They come with each returning spring, And revel in the April showers.

No sign is there that restless man
A habitation once had found;
They bloom in lonely loveliness,

Where nature clothes the verdant ground.

I asked an aged rustic why

These daffodils were blooming here, When, searching all the country round, No other daffodils were near.

He told me that a priory once
Stood in that lonely meadow-field,

For friars of the Roman Church
Their daily orisons to yield.

He said, "In ancient times, the monks
These beds of Lenten lilies grew,

To deck their church, at Eastertide,
With symbols, beautiful and new,

"Of that new life and that new hope
That brightened all our earthly gloom,
When Jesus burst the bonds of death,
And rose triumphant from the tomb.

"Their church and house, long ground to dust, Lie on the neighbouring parish road;

And now these daffodils alone

Show here was once the monks' abode.

70

THE MONKS' DAFFODILS.

"A living link, they still unite

The present with the silent past;
They still will live when you and I
On earthly things have looked our last."

"Then, friend," I said, "why live for earth? Why fret ourselves with earthly ills,

When we shall soon be less to earth

Than trees, and shrubs, and daffodils ?"

ELEGY IN AUTUMN.

I WATCHED the setting autumn sun
Illume with fiery light

The western clouds, to herald in
The mystery of night;

I saw the sad and leafless trees
Stand black against the sky,
Like grim and ghastly skeletons,
Tossing their arms on high,

As if, in agonies of pain,

They writhed in troubled sleep, And wailed their vernal loveliness,

But could not find to weep.

Then dreamy thoughts passed over me

Of mingled joy and pain;

Like clouds that are touched with sunshine,

And colours in the rain.

For I thought of other sleepers
Under the graveyard green,

Who had passed, a while before me,

Into the great unseen,

No sorrow of regretfulness

To break their dreamless sleep;

For all that earth could keep of them
Was wrapt in slumber deep-

So deep, so calm, so beautiful,

That like the peace of God

Seemed the sleep that they were sleeping, Under the graveyard sod.

And earth, a mother, lovingly,
From dangers and alarms,
But tenderly seemed to take them,
And fold them in her arms.