XCVIII.-" HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP."

ELIZABETH B. BROWNING.

1. Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward unto souls afar,

Along the Psalmist's music deep,
Now tell me if there any is,
For gift or grace, surpassing this—
He giveth His beloved, sleep!

2. What would we give to our beloved?
The hero's heart, to be unmoved,

The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep,
The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse,
The monarch's crown, to light the brows?—
He giveth His belovéd, sleep.

3. What do we give to our beloved?
A little faith all undisproved,
A little dust to overweep,
And bitter memories to make

The whole earth blasted for our sake.-
He giveth His beloved, sleep.

4.

Sleep soft, beloved!" we sometimes say,
But have no time to charm away

Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep.

But never doleful dream again

Shall break the happy slumber when
He giveth His beloved, sleep.

5. O earth, so full of dreary noises !
O men, with wailing in your voices!

O delvéd gold, the wailers heap!
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!
God strikes a silence through you all,
And giveth His belovéd, sleep.

6. His dews drop mutely on the hill;
His cloud above it saileth still,

Though on its slope men sow and reap.
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,

He giveth His belovéd, sleep.

7. Ay, men may wonder while they scan
A living, thinking, feeling man

Confirmed in such a rest to keep;
But angels say, and through the word
I think their happy smile is heard-
"He giveth His beloved, sleep."

8. For me, my heart that erst did go
Most like a tired child at a show,

That sees through tears the mummers leap,
Would now its wearied vision close,
Would childlike on His love repose

Who giveth His beloved, sleep.

9. And, friends, dear friends,-when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me,
And round my bier ye come to weep,

Let One, most loving of you all,
Say, "Not a tear must o'er her fall ;
He giveth His belovéd, sleep!"

QUESTIONS.-What kind of poetry is this? Is it joyous, sad, pathetic, plaintive? How much force does it require ? What degree of pitch? of speed? What feelings ought to be expressed in the reading of it?

First Stanza.

What "thought of God" is mentioned in this stanza? What precedes in thought the word "of" at the beginning of the first line? Convert the stanza into prose so as to show this. What is the meaning of the word "afar," and what does it modify? Meaning of " for " in the fifth line?

Second Stanza.

What is meant by the "hero's heart"? "the poet's startuned harp"? Why is it called "star-tuned"? What is declared about "the hero's heart, the poet's harp, the patriot's voice, the monarch's crown?"

Third Stanza.

Explain the second, third, fourth, and fifth lines, and show how they answer the question in the first line. What is the meaning of the word "undisproved"? "overweep"?

Fifth Stanza.

What part of speech is the word "heap" in the third line? What is the meaning of "delvéd"? Compare the fourth and fifth stanzas, and show the difference which the author points out between us and God.

Seventh Stanza.

What is the meaning of "scan"? Why "may men wonder," and at what?

Eighth Stanza.

What is the meaning of the word "mummers"? To whom is it applied in this stanza?

XCIX. THE FALL OF WOLSEY.

SHAKSPEARE.

Wolsey. Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him:
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And,-when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening,-nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,

This many summers in a sea of glory,

But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy

Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye :
I feel my heart new opened. O! how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors.
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.—

Enter CROMWELL, and stands amazed.

Why, how now, Cromwell?

What! amazed

Cromwell. I have no power to speak, sir.
Wolsey.
At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder,
A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,
I am fallen indeed.

Cromwell.

Wolsey.

?

How does your grace

Why, well:

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now; and I feel within me

A peace above all earthly dignities,

A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured

me,

(I humbly thank his grace,) and from these shoulders, These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken

A load would sink a navy—too much honor!
O! 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden,

Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.

Cromwell. I am glad your grace has made that right

use of it.

Wolsey. I hope I have: I am able now, methinks,

(Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,)

To endure more miseries, and greater far,

Than my

weak-hearted enemies dare offer.

What news abroad?

Cromwell.

The heaviest, and the worst,

God bless him!

Is your displeasure with the king.

Wolsey.

Cromwell. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen Lord Chancellor in your place.

Wolsey.

That's somewhat sudden; But he's a learned man. May he continue Long in his highness' favor, and do justice For truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones, When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings, May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em! What more?

Cromwell.

That Cranmer is returned with welcome, Installed lord archbishop of Canterbury. Wolsey. That's news indeed!

Cromwell.

Last, that the lady Anne,

Whom the king hath in secrecy long married,
This day was viewed in open, as his queen,
Going to chapel; and the voice is now

Only about her coronation.

Wolsey. There was the weight that pulled me down. O Cromwell!

The king has gone beyond me all my glories

In that one woman I have lost for ever.

No sun shall ever usher forth mine honors,

Or gild again the noble troops that waited

Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell;
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now

To be thy lord and master. Seek the king;

(That sun, I pray, may never set!) I have told him What and how true thou art: he will advance thee. Some little memory of me will stir him

(I know his noble nature,) not to let

Thy hopeful service perish. Good Cromwell,
Neglect him not; make use now, and provide
For thine own future safety.

Cromwell.

O my lord!
Must I then leave you? must I needs forego
So good, so noble, and so true a master?
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,