FATE.

THAT you are fair or wise is vain,
Or strong, or rich, or generous;
You must add the untaught strain
That sheds beauty on the rose.
There's a melody born of melody,
Which melts the world into a sea.
Toil could never compass it;
Art its height could never hit;
It came never out of wit;
But a music music-born

Well may Jove and Juno scorn.
Thy beauty, if it lack the fire

Which drives me mad with sweet desire,
What boots it? what the soldier's mail,
Unless he conquer and prevail?

What all the goods thy pride which lift,
If thou pine for another's gift?
Alas! that one is born in blight,
Victim of perpetual slight:

When thou lookest on his face,

Thy heart saith, 'Brother, go thy ways!
None shall ask thee what thou doest,
Or care a rush for what thou knowest,
Or listen when thou repliest,

Or remember where thou liest,

Or how thy supper is sodden';
And another is born

To make the sun forgotten.

Surely he carries a talisman
Under his tongue;

Broad his shoulders are and strong;
And his eye is scornful,
Threatening, and young.
I hold it of little matter

Whether your jewel be of pure water,
A rose diamond or a white,

But whether it dazzle me with light.
I care not how you are dressed,
In coarsest weeds or in the best;

Nor whether your name is base or brave;
Nor for the fashion of your behavior;

But whether you

charm me,

Bid my bread feed and my fire warm me, And dress up Nature in your favor.

One thing is forever good;

That one thing is Success,

Dear to the Eumenides,

And to all the heavenly brood.

Who bides at home, nor looks abroad,

Carries the eagles, and masters the sword.

GUY.

MORTAL mixed of middle clay,
Attempered to the night and day,
Interchangeable with things,
Needs no amulets nor rings.
Guy possessed the talisman

That all things from him began;

And as, of old, Polycrates

Chained the sunshine and the breeze,

So did Guy betimes discover
Fortune was his guard and lover;
In strange junctures, felt, with awe,
His own symmetry with law;
That no mixture could withstand
The virtue of his lucky hand.
He gold or jewel could not lose,
Nor not receive his ample dues.
In the street, if he turned round,
His eye the eye 't was seeking found.
It seemed his Genius discreet
Worked on the Maker's own receipt,
And made each tide and element
Stewards of stipend and of rent;
So that the common waters fell
As costly wine into his well.
He had so sped his wise affairs

That he caught Nature in his snares;
Early or late, the falling rain

Arrived in time to swell his grain;
Stream could not so perversely wind
But corn of Guy's was there to grind;
The siroc found it on its way,
To speed his sails, to dry his hay;
And the world's sun seemed to rise,
To drudge all day for Guy the wise.
In his rich nurseries, timely skill
Strong crab with nobler blood did fill;
The zephyr in his garden rolled
From plum-trees vegetable gold;
And all the hours of the year

With their own harvest honored were.
There was no frost but welcome came,
Nor freshet, nor midsummer flame.
Belonged to wind and world the toil
And venture, and to Guy the oil.

TO EVA.

O FAIR and stately maid, whose eyes
Were kindled in the upper skies

At the same torch that lighted mine;
For so I must interpret still
Thy sweet dominion o'er my will,
A sympathy divine.

Ah! let me blameless gaze upon
Features that seem at heart my own;
Nor fear those watchful sentinels,
Who charm the more their glance forbids,
Chaste-glowing, underneath their lids,

With fire that draws while it repels.