FLUSH OR FAUNUS.

OU see this dog; it was but yesterday

You

I mused forgetful of his presence here

Till thought on thought drew downward tear on tear : When from the pillow where wet-cheeked I lay,

A head as hairy as Faunus thrust its way

Right sudden against my face, two golden-clear
Great eyes astonished mine, a drooping ear
Did flap me on either cheek to dry the spray !
I started first as some Arcadian

Amazed by goatly god in twilight grove;
But as the bearded vision closelier ran

My tears off, I knew Flush, and rose above Surprise and sadness,-thanking the true PAN Who by low creatures leads to heights of love.

CHEERFULNESS TAUGHT BY REASON.

I

THINK we are too ready with complaint

In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope
Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope
Of yon grey blank of sky, we might grow faint
To muse upon eternity's constraint

Round our aspirant souls; but since the scope
Must widen early, is it well to droop,
For a few days consumed in loss and taint?
O pusillanimous heart, be comforted

And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road,
Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread
Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod
To meet the flints? At least it may be said,

Because the way is short, I thank Thee, God.

ADEQUACY.

NOW, by the verdure on thy thousand hills,

Beloved England, doth the earth appear

Quite good enough for men to overbear The will of God in, with rebellious wills! We cannot say the morning-sun fulfils

Ingloriously its course, nor that the clear Strong stars without significance insphere Our habitation: we, meantime, our ills Heap up against this good and lift a cry

Against this work-day world, this ill-spread feast, As if ourselves were better certainly

Than what we come to.

Maker and High Priest,

I ask Thee not my joys to multiply,—

Only to make me worthier of the least.

SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE.

I.

I

THOUGHT once how Theocritus had sung

Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,

Who each one in a gracious hand appears To bear a gift for mortals, old or young : And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,

I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, So weeping, how a mystic shape did move Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair; And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,— 'Guess now who holds thee?'-'Death,' I said. But,

there,

The silver answer rang,-'Not Death, but Love.'

SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE.

II.

F thou must love me, let it be for nought

IF

Except for love's sake only. Do not say 'I love her for her smile-her look-her way Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day;' For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought, May be unwrought so. Neither love me for

Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,

A creature might forget to weep, who bore

Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby ! But love me for love's sake, that evermore

Thou may'st love on, through love's eternity.