Thine too is the cause! and not more thine XVIII. "We withstood Christ then? Be mindful how At least we withstand Barabbas now! Was our outrage sore? But the worst we spared, XIX. "By the torture, prolonged from age to age, By the Ghetto's plague, by the garb's disgrace, XX. " "We boast our proof that at least the Jew But we fought them in it, God our aid! A trophy to bear, as we march, thy band South, East, and on to the Pleasant Land!" [The late Pope abolished this bad business of the AMPHIBIAN. I. THE fancy I had to-day, Fancy which turned a fear! I swam far out in the bay, Since waves laughed warm and clear. Such a strange butterfly! IV. Because the membraned wings V. A handbreadth over head! I never shall join its flight, For naught buoys flesh in air. VII. Can the insect feel the better For watching the uncouth play Of limbs that slip the fetter, Pretend as they were not clay ? VIII. Undoubtedly I rejoice That the air comports so well With a creature which had the choice Thus watch one who, in the world, Nor wishes the wings unfurled That sleep in the worm, they say? XI. But sometimes when the weather Is blue, and warm waves tempt To free one's self of tether, And try a life exempt XII. From worldly noise and dust, XIII. By passion and thought upborne, XIV. Emancipate through passion XV. Which sea, to all intent, Affords the spirit-sort. XVI. Whatever they are, we seem : XVII. And meantime, yonder streak If we tire or dread the surge; XVIII. Land the solid and safe To welcome again (confess!) When, high and dry, we chafe The body, and don the dress. XIX. Does she look, pity, wonder ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER. I. No protesting, dearest! Hardly kisses even! Don't we both know how it ends? How the greenest leaf turns searest? Bluest outbreak-blankest heaven? Lovers-friends? II. You would build a mansion, I would weave a bower -Want the heart for enterprise. Walls admit of no expansion : III. What makes glad Life's Winter? Sad the sighing "How suspect IV. You are young, my princess! Yet I steal a glance behind! V. Where we plan our dwelling Glooms a graveyard surely! Headstone, footstone moss may drape,— Name, date, violets hide from spelling,- Ghosts escape. VI. Ghosts! O breathing Beauty, Give my frank word pardon! What if I somehow, somewhere Pledged my soul to endless duty Many a time and oft? Be hard on Love-laid there? VII. Nay, blame grief that's fickle, Time that proves a traitor, Chance, change, all that purpose warps,— Death who spares to thrust the sickle, Which laid Love low, through flowers which later Shroud the corpse! VIII. And you, my winsome lady, Lies nothing buried long ago? Are yon-which shimmer mid what's shady IX. Who taxes you with murder? My hands are clean-or nearly! Love being mortal needs must pass. Repentance? Nothing were absurder. Enough we felt Love's loss severely; Though now-alas ! X. Love's corpse lies quiet therefore, And warns us have in wholesome awe XI. The solid, not the fragile, Tempts rain and hail and thunder, If bower stand firm at autumn's close, Beyond my hope,-why, boughs were agile; If bower fall flat, we scarce need wonder Wreathing-rose! XII. So, truce to the protesting, So, muffled be the kisses! For, would we but avow the truth, Sober is genuine joy. No jesting! Ask else Penelope, Ulysses- |