For oh dear child of thoughtful Truth,

To thee I gave my early youth.

And left the bark, and biest the steadfast shore.

Ere yet the tempest rose and scared me with its roar.

Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine.
On him but seldom. Power divine.
The spirit rests! Satiety

And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee,
Mock the tired worldling. de Hope
And dire Remembrance interlope,

To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind:
The bubble floats before, the spectre stalks behind.

But me thy gentle hand will lead

At morning through the accustomed mead;
And in the sultry summer's heat
Will build me up a mossy seat;
And when the gust of Autumn crowds,
And breaks the busy moonlight clouds,

Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune,
Light as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding moon.

The feeling heart, the searching soul,
To thee I dedicate the whole!
And while within myself I trace

The greatness of some future race,
Aloof with hermit-eye I scan

The present works of present man

A wild and dream-like trade of blood and guile,
Too foolish for a tear, too wicked for a smile!

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

DE

SENECTUTE

Some of life's sad ones are too strong to die,
Grief doesn't kill them as it does the weak,
Sorrow is not for those who sit and cry
Lapped in the love of turning t'other cheek,

But for the noble souls austere and bleak

Who have had the bitter dose and drained the cup, And wait for Death face fronted, standing up.

Terminus

IT is time to be old,

To take in sail :

The god of bounds,

Who sets to seas a shore,

Came to me in his fatal rounds,

And said: 'No more!

No farther spread

Thy broad ambitious branches, and thy root.

Fancy departs: no more invent,

Contract thy firmament

Το compass of a tent.

There's not enough for this and that,

Make thy option which of two;

Economize the failing river,
Not the less revere the Giver,
Leave the many and hold the few.
Timely wise accept the terms,
Soften the fall with wary foot;
A little while

Still plan and smile,

And, fault of novel germs,
Mature the unfallen fruit.

Curse, if thou wilt, thy sires,

Bad husbands of their fires,

Who, when they gave thee breath,
Failed to bequeath

The needful sinew stark as once,

The Baresark marrow to thy bones,
But left a legacy of ebbing veins,
Inconstant heat and nerveless reins,-
Amid the Muses, left thee deaf and dumb,
Amid the gladiators, halt and numb.'
As the bird trims her to the gale,
I trim myself to the storm of time,
I man the rudder, reef the sail,

Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime:
· Lowly faithful, banish fear,

Right onward drive unarmed;

The port, well worth the cruise, is near,

And

every wave is charmed.'

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

A Farewell to Arms

(To Queen Elizabeth)

HIS golden locks Time hath to silver turned ;

O Time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing! His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurned, But spurned in vain; youth waneth by increasing. Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen. Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green.

His helmet now shall make a hive for bees,
And lovers' sonnets turned to holy psalms;
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers, which are Age his alms:
But though from court to cottage he depart,
His saint is sure of his unspotted heart.