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Saharan sand-winds

Sear'd his keen eyeballs;

Spent is the spoil he won!

For him the present

Holds only pain.

Two young, fair lovers,
Where the warm June-wind,

Fresh from the summer fields,

Plays fondly round them,

Stand, tranced in joy.

With sweet, join'd voices,

And with eyes brimming:

Ah,' they cry, 'Destiny!

Prolong the present;
Time, stand still here!'

The prompt stern Goddess
Shakes her head, frowning;
Time gives his hour-glass
Its due reversal;

Their hour is gone!

With weak indulgence

Did the just Goddess

Lengthen their happiness, She lengthen'd also

Distress elsewhere.

The hour, whose happy
Unalloy'd moments

I would eternalise,

Ten thousand mourners

Well pleased see end.

The bleak stern hour,

Whose severe moments

I would annihilate,

Is pass'd by others

In warmth, light, joy.

Time, so complain'd of,

Who to no one man

Shows partiality,

Brings round to all men

Some undimm'd hours.

SELF-DEPENDENCE.

TEARY of myself, and sick of asking

WEARY

What I am, and what I ought to be,

At the vessel's prow I stand, which bears me
Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea.

And a look of passionate desire

O'er the sea and to the stars I send:

'Ye who from my childhood up have calm'd me, Calm me, ah, compose me to the end!

Ah, once more,' I cried, 'ye stars, ye waters,
On my heart your mighty charm renew!
Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you,

Feel my soul becoming vast like you!'

From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven, Over the lit sea's unquiet way,

In the rustling night-air came the answer:

'Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they!

Unaffrighted by the silence round them,
Undistracted by the sights they see,

These demand not, that the things without them
Yield them love, amusement, sympathy.

And with joy the stars perform their shining,
And the sea its long moon-silver'd roll;
Why?-self-poised they live, nor pine with noting
All the fever of some differing soul.

Bounded by themselves, and unregardful
In what state God's other works may be,
In their own tasks all their powers pouring,
These attain the mighty life you see.'

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O air-born voice! long since, severely clear
A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear:
'Resolve to be thyself! and know, that he
Who finds himself, loses his misery!'

MORALITY.

E cannot kindle when we will

WE

The fire which in the heart resides,

The spirit bloweth and is still,

In mystery our soul abides;

But tasks in hours of insight will'd

Can be through hours of gloom fulfill'd.

With aching hands and bleeding feet
We dig and heap, lay stone on stone;
We bear the burden and the heat

Of the long day, and wish 'twere done.
Not till the hours of light return
All we have built do we discern.

Then, when the clouds are off the soul, When thou dost bask in Nature's eye, Ask, how she view'd thy self-control, Thy struggling, task'd morality

Nature, whose free, light, cheerful air, Oft made thee, in thy gloom, despair.

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