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But o'er the elements
One Hand alone,

One Hand has sway.
What influence day by day
In straiter belt prevents

The impious Ocean, thrown
Alternate o'er the ever-sounding shore ?

Or who has eye to trace

How the Plague came?

Forerun the doublings of the Tempest's race?
Or the Air's weight and flame
On a set scale explore!

Thus God has will'd:

That man, when fully skill'd,
Still gropes in twilight dim;
Encompass'd all his hours
By fearfullest powers

Inflexible to him:

That so he may discern

His feebleness,

And even for earth's success

To Him in wisdom turn

Who holds for us the keys of either homeEarth and the world-to-come.

A VOICE FROM AFAR.

Weep not for me!

Be blithe as wont, nor tinge with gloom
The stream of love that circles home,
Light hearts and free!

Joy in the gifts Heaven's bounty lends ;
Nor miss my face, dear friends!

I still am near:

Watching the smiles I prized on earth, Your converse mild, your blameless mirth;

Now too I hear

Of whisper'd sounds the tale complete,
Low prayers, and musings sweet.

A sea before

The Throne is spread: its pure still glass
Pictures all earth-scenes as they pass;
We on its shore

Share, in the bosom of our rest,
God's knowledge, and are bless'd.

HARRIET MARTINEAU.

1802-1876.

BENEATH THE ARCH.

Beneath this starry arch

Nought resteth or is still;

But all things hold their march

As if by one great Will:

Moves one, move all : hark to the foot-fall!

On, on, forever!

Yon sheaves were once but seed;

Will ripens into deed;

As cave-drops swell the streams,

Day-thoughts feed nightly dreams;

And sorrow tracketh wrong,

As echo follows song :

On, on, forever!

By night, like stars on high,

The Hours reveal their train;

They whisper, and go by:

I never watch in vain.

Moves one, move all: hark to the foot-fall!

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They pass the cradle-head,

And there a promise shed;

They pass the moist new grave,
And bid rank verdure wave;
They bear through every clime

The harvests of all time

On, on, forever!

THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES.
1803-1849.

SONG OF THE STYGIAN NAIADS.

Prosperine may pull her flowers,
Wet with dew or wet with tears,
Red with anger, pale with fears:
Is it any fault of ours

If Pluto be an amorous king,

And comes home nightly laden,
Underneath his broad bat-wing,
With a gentle mortal maiden?
Is it so? Wind! is it so?
All that you and I do know
Is that we saw fly and fix
'Mongst the reeds and flowers of Styx,
Yesterday,

Where the Furies made their hay
For a bed of tiger-cubs,

A great fly of Beelzebub's,

The bee of hearts, which mortals name Cupid, Love, and Fie-for-shame.

Proserpine may weep in rage,

But, ere I and you have done Kissing, bathing in the sun, What I have in yonder cage, Bird or serpent, wild or tame, She shall guess and ask in vain :

But if Pluto does it again,

It shall sing out loud his shame.

What hast caught then? what hast caught? Nothing but a poet's thought

Which so light did fall and fix
'Mongst the reeds and flowers of Styx
Yesterday,

Where the Furies made their hay
For a bed of tiger-cubs,

A great fly of Beelzebub's,—

The bee of hearts, which mortals name Cupid, Love, and Fie-for-shame.

HOW MANY TIMES?

How many times do I love thee? Dear!
Tell me how many thoughts there be
In the atmosphere

Of a new-fallen year,

Whose white and sable hours appear
The latest flake of Eternity :-
So many times do I love thee, Dear!

How many times do I love, again?
Tell me how many beads there are
In a silver chain

Of evening rain

Unraveled from the trembling main
And threading the eye of a yellow star :-
So many times do I love again.

SEA SONG.

To sea to sea! The calm is o'er :
The wanton water leaps in sport,
And rattles down the pebbly shore ;

The dolphin wheels, the sea-cows snort,

And unseen mermaids' pearly song
Comes bubbling up the weeds among.

Fling broad the sail! dip deep the oar!
To sea to sea! the calm is o'er.

To sea! to sea! our wide-wing'd bark
Shall billowy cleave its sunny way,
And with its shadow, fleet and dark,
Break the caved Tritons' azure day :
Like mighty eagles soaring light
O'er antelopes on Alpine height.
The anchor heaves, the ship swings free,
The sail swells full to sea! to sea!

RICHARD HENGIST HORNE.

1803

GENIUS.

Far out at sea,-the sun was high,
While veer'd the wind and flapp'd the sail,
We saw a snow-
w-white butterfly

Dancing before the fitful gale,

Far out at sea.

The little wanderer, who had lost
His way, of danger nothing knew ;
Settled awhile upon the mast,--
Then flutter'd o'er the waters blue,

Far out at sea.

Above, there gleam'd the boundless sky; Beneath, the boundless ocean sheen;

Between them danced the butterfly,

The spirit-life of this vast scene,—

Far out at sea,

The tiny soul then soar'd away,

Seeking the clouds on fragile wings,

Lured by the brighter, purer ray

Which hope's ecstatic morning brings,

Far out at sea.

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