Yet in the long years liker must they grow; He gain in sweetness and in moral height, Till at the last she set herself to man, Like perfect music unto noble words; And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time, Distinct in individualities, But like each other even as those who love. Then comes the statelier Eden back to men: Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm: EXTRACT FROM THE "RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY." Mrs. Browning. Ho! the breach yawns into ruin, and roars up against her suing,— Toll slowly! With the inarticulate din, and the dreadful falling in Shrieks of doing and undoing! Twice he wrung her hands in twain; but the small hands closed again, Toll slowly! Back he reined the steed-back, back! but she trailed along his track, With a frantic clasp and strain! Evermore the foeman pour through the crash of window and door,- Strike up clear the general roar, Thrice he wrung her hands in twain, - but they closed and clung again, Toll slowly! Wild she clung, as one, withstood, clasps a Christ upon the rood, In a spasm of deathly pain, 1 She clung wild and she clung mute, half-shut, with her shuddering lips Toll slowly! Her head fallen as in a swound, - hair and knee swept on the She clung wild to stirrup and foot. Back he reined his stced, back-thrown on the slippery coping stone, Toll slowly! Back the iron hoofs did grind, on the battlement behind, And his heel did press and goad on the quivering flank bestrode, Toll slowly! 66 Friends, and brothers! save my wife! - Pardon, sweet, in change for life, But I ride alone to God!" Strait as if the Holy name did upbreathe her as a flame, Toll slowly! She upsprang, she rose upright! — in his selle she sat in sight; By her love she overcame. And her head was on his breast, where she smiled as one at rest,— Toll slowly! 'Ring," she cried, "O vesper-bell, in the beech-wood's old chapelle ! But the passing bell rings best." They have caught out at the rein, which Sir Guy threw loose-in vain, Toll slowly! For the horse in stark despair, with his front hoofs poised in air, On the last verge, rears amain. And he hangs, he rocks between - and his nostrils curdle in, Toll slowly! And he shivers head and hoof- and the flakes of foam fall off; And his face grows fierce and thin! And a look of human woe, from his staring eyes did go And a sharp cry uttered he, in a foretold agony Of the headlong death below, Toll slowly! And, "Ring, ring, - thou passing bell," still she cried, "i' the old O one, O onely Mansion! O Paradise of Joy! Where tears are ever banished, Beside thy living waters All plants are, great and small, The cedar of the forest, The hyssop of the wall; With jaspers glow thy bulwarks, Thy streets with emeralds blaze, The sardius and the topaz Unite in thee their rays; Thine ageless walls are bonded THE SOLDIER FROM BINGEN. A Soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, Mrs. No ton. There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears; But a comrade stood beside him, while the life-blood ebbed away, "Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around, To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground, "Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild; I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword! And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine, On the cottage wall at Bingen - calm Bingen on the Rhine! "Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, When the troops come marching home again, with glad and gallant tread; But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, For her brother was a soldier, too, and not afraid to die! And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame; And to hang the old sword in its place- (my father's sword and mine), For the honor of old Bingen-dear Bingen on the Rhine! |