And quench its speed in the slushy sand.
Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears ;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,

And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears,

Than the two hearts beating each to each!

And straight was a path of gold for him,

And the need of a world of men for me.

PROSPICE.

EAR death?-to feel the fog in my

throat,

The mist in my face,

When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing the place,

The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe;

Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form,

Yet the strong man must go :

For the journey is done and the summit attained,

And the barriers fall,

Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be

gained,

The reward of it all.

I was ever a fighter, so, -one fight more,

The best and the last!

I would hate that death bandaged my eyes,

and forbore,

And bade me creep past.

No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my

peers,

The heroes of old,

Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's

arrears

Of pain, darkness, and cold.

For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,

The black minute 's at end,

And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that

rave,

Shall dwindle, shall blend,

Shall change, shall become first a peace,

a joy,

Then a light, then thy breast,

then

O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee

again,

And with God be the rest!