He hath left his sword behind him-he hath flung his shield away; Open-handed, open-breasted, down he rushes to the fray.

With a wide embrace he clasps ten lances in a single sheaf, Throws his manly bosom on them—and his death is bold and brief.

Where he bends those lances downward, there's an opening in the ranks ;

Now the raging stream may burst its old impenetrable banks.

Arnold lives one glorious moment-lives to see his death repaid, Lives to see his comrades leap upon the gap that he hath made.

** It may be as well to say, that this is an attempt to imitate the Trochaic metre of Mr. Tennyson's great Poem, "Locksley Hall.”

"THERE IS A WORLD MADE FOR US.”

Letter to Lord Ashley from a Milliner.—Times, Mar. 2
"There is a world made for us!" Is it so
Thou poor brave heart, so meek and maidenly?
And is there beauty meant to soothe thine eye,
Which pomp and avarice bid thee quite forego?
Doth the proud city need thy simple plea
To tell it that the joyance and the grace

Of summer-breathing fields were wrought for thee?
That winds were born to blow on thy wan face,
Dew drops to greet thy steps, and birds to cheer
Thy toil-worn soul? Surely thy life is drear,
Thy spirit comfortless: pray on, pray on,
The world is thine, this and another too;

Tell out thy injuries for the rich to rue,
And earn a champion's aid, a poet's benison.

ANTIGONE.

Paraphrased from Eurip. Phoem. vss. 163–172.

Yes, yes, I do; I look for him
Beside the maiden's grave-'tis he!

But ah! it is so faint and dim,
The happy sight that I would see,
I think 'tis fancy that doth limn
His form, his shield, his blazonry,
And, though it be a semblance bright,
I cannot gaze on him aright.

Oh! that I

Could leap and fly,

That I could haste

Like a cloudlet chased

By a summer wind through a summer sky,
And round the neck of my mother's child
I'd fling my arms so wild, so wild,
And weep in that exiled brother's embrace,
And hang on that unforgotten face.
Look up, old man! and soothly say

His beauty is like the breaking day,

And the glance that darts from that kindling eye,
Outshineth his golden panoply.

Man, that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of

A

year

misery.-Burial Service.

hath passed since thou wert borne

To the dark silent grave,

And none on earth to me forlorn

A loving comfort gave;

It seemed all mortal bliss was gone,
And black despair remained alone.

My life was like a gloomy day
Lit by a wintry sun;

The fleeting brilliance fled away,
Ere it had well begun,

And left a darker, drearier night
For the brief gleam of passing light.

All my fierce passions sunk to rest
Beneath thy dove-like eyes;
And pillowed on thy gentle breast,
They strove in vain to rise;

I voyaged on a summer sea
With thy soft hand to pilot me.

The dark sad youth thou didst not spurn,
Nor freeze his love with pride;

But when thou braved'st withering scorn,
To bind thee to my side,
No mortal language dare express

My spirit's utter happiness.

Nought had gone well with me before,

All smiled upon me now;

With fair winds down life's stream we bore
Together, I and thou.

It was a dream too bright to last;
I woke and it was overpast.

They say when thou wert lying dead,
I scarcely breathed a sigh;

I spoke no word-no tears I shed

As though their springs were dry.

I cannot tell, I only know

I saw not, heard not, for my woe.

Dim and confused seemed all things round,
As in distempered sleep,

When mens' eyes, though their sense is bound,
A ghastly lustre keep;

Only it seemed the passing bell

Crushed my bruised heart beneath each knell.

The funeral past, in order meet,

Uprose that wondrous prayer;
My body filled the mourner's seat,
My spirit was not there;

Thy form half seen before me hung,
Thy sweet low tones around me rung.

The trance passed by, and I awoke,
And knew that thou wert gone;

The solemn truth upon me broke
That I was here alone.

Then gushing tears poured down my cheek,
I wept as though my heart would break.

The sullen cloud dissolved in rain ;

The hard parched earth was wet;
I changed that dull and stunning pain
For chastened meek regret ;
And now I love this church-yard shade,
Where all my earthly joys are laid.

This gnarled cedar's branches wave
With a mild warning tone;
That red-breast carols on the grave
With music not its own;

The fleecy clouds, the sunny air,

An eloquent beauty seem to wear.

They bid me not to pour my grief,
As though no hope were mine,
But with the mourner's cypress leaf

Some brighter flowers to twine;
For here from death and dank decay
Life blossoms beautiful and gay.

So thou art passed the veil within,
I yet without remain

To strive against my load of sin
With toil and earnest pain,

If haply it may yet be given

To join thee once again in heaven.

THE VIGIL OF COLUMBUS.

1.

The homeless guest of Rabida
Watcheth all night long,

On the silent chapel-floor,
Bending, bending, evermore,
Thinking of all the wrong
Done him by the friends that fail,
By the sorry souls that ail

Of sloth and fear,

By the puny mindlings taught
Just to take in half a thought,

By the smiles that fade away,
By the patrons insincere,

Who have duped him with delay,

Year after year.

Poor-weak and old before his time,

Panting all the while