been?

"I've been sweeping the cobwebs out of the sky;

I've been grinding a grist in the mill hard by;

I've been laughing at work while others sigh;

Let those laugh who win!"

Sweet rain, soft rain, what are you doing? "I'm urging the corn to fill out its cells; I'm helping the lily to fashion its bells; I'm swelling the torrent and brimming the wells;

Is that worth pursuing?"

Redbreast, red breast, what have you done? "I've been watching the nest where my fledgelings lie; I've sung them to sleep with a lullaby; By and by I shall teach them to fly, Up and away, every one!"

Honey-bee, honey-bee, where are you going?

"To fill my basket with precious pelf; To toil for my neighbor as well as myself; To find out the sweetest flower that grows, Be it a thistle or be it a rose, —

A secret worth the knowing!"

Each content with the work to be done,
Ever the same from sun to sun:
Shall you and I be taught to work
By the bee and the bird, that scorn to
shirk?

Wind and rain fulfilling His word!
Tell me, was ever a legend heard
Where the wind, commanded to blow,
deferred;

Or the rain, that was bidden to fall, demurred?

TWO MOODS.

I PLUCKED the harebells as I went

337

Singing along the river-side;
The skies above were opulent
Of sunshine. "Ah! whate'er betide,
The world is sweet, is sweet," I cried,
That morning by the river-side.

The curlews called along the shore;
The boats put out from sandy beach;
Afar I heard the breakers' roar,
Mellowed to silver-sounding speech;
And still I sang it o'er and o'er,
"The world is sweet forevermore!"

blossom never more,

And the burden of my loneliness lies on

me very sore: Therefore, O hewer of the stones that pave base human ways, How canst thou bear the years till death, made of such thankless days?"

Then he replied: "Ere sunrise, when the

pale lips of the day

Sent forth an earnest thrill of breath at warmth of the first ray,

A great thought rose within me, how, while men asleep had lain, The thousand labors of the world had grown up once again.

"The sun grew on the world, and on my soul the thought grew too,A great appalling sun, to light my soul the long day through.

I felt the world's whole burden for a moment, then began

With man's gigantic strength to do the labor of one man.

"I went forth hastily, and lo! I met a hundred men,

The worker with the chisel and the worker with the pen,

The restless toilers after good, who sow and never reap,

And one who maketh music for their

souls that may not sleep.

"Each passed me with a dauntless look, and my undaunted eyes Were almost softened as they passed with tears that strove to rise At sight of all those labors, and because

man can do and bear,

It did not wholly fall my side as though no man were there.

ARCHDEACON HARE.

ITALY. A PROPHECY.
1818.

STRIKE the loved harp; let the prelude be,
Italy! Italy!

That chord again, again that note of glee, — Italy! Italy!

Italy! O Italy! the very sound it charmeth:
Italy! O Italy! the name my bosom warm-

eth.
High thought of self-devotions,
Compassionate emotions,

Dear queen of snowy mountains,
And consecrated fountains,

Within whose rocky, heaven-aspiring pale
Beauty has fixed a dwelling
All others so excelling

339

Truth hath decreed her joyous resurrection:

She shall arise, she must.

For can it be that wickedness hath power
To undermine or topple down the tower
Of virtue's edifice?
And yet that vice

Should be allowed on sacred ground to plant

A rock of adamant?

It is of ice,

would fail;

Hail to thee! hail!

Before the righteous sun's returning ray.

But who shall bear the dazzling radiancy, When first the royal Maid awaking Darteth around her wild indignant eye, When first her bright spear shaking, Fixing her feet on earth, her looks on sky, She standeth like the Archangel prompt to vanquish,

Yet still imploring succor from on high? O days of weary hope and passionate anguish,

When will ye end!
Until that end be come, until I hear

The Alps their mighty voices blend, To swell and echo back the sound most dear

To patriot hearts, the cry of Liberty,
I must live on. But when the glorious
Queen

As erst is canopied with Freedom's sheen,
When I have prest, with salutation meet,
With reverent love to kiss her honored
feet,

I then may die,

Die how well satisfied!

Conscious that I have watched the second birth

Of her I've loved the most upon the earth,

Conscious beside

That no more beauteous sight can here be given:

Sublimer visions are reserved for heaven.

T. K. HERVEY.

EPITAPH.

FAREWELL! since never more for thee The sun comes up our eastern skies, Less bright henceforth shall sunshine be To some fond hearts and saddened eyes.

The very dial on the village church

Seems as 't were dreaming in a dozy rest;

The scribbled benches underneath the porch

west:

But the broad casements of the old Three

Kings

Blaze like a furnace-while the Blackbird sings.

And there beneath the immemorial elm Three rosy revellers round a table sit,

Of festal garments, and my lady

streams