W. WATSON.

IN LALEHAM CHURCHYARD

'Twas at this season, year by year,
The singer who lies songless here
Was wont to woo a less austere,
Less deep repose,

Where Rotha to Winandermere
Unresting flows,—

Flows through a land where torrents call
To far-off torrents as they fall,
And mountains in their cloudy pall

Keep ghostly state,
And Nature makes majestical

Man's lowliest fate.

There, 'mid the August glow, still came He of the twice illustrious name,

The loud impertinence of fame

Not loth to flee

Not loth with brooks and fells to claim Fraternity.

Linked with his happy youthful lot,
Is Loughrigg, then, at last forgot?
Nor silent peak nor dalesman's cot
Looks on his grave.

Lulled by the Thames he sleeps, and not
By Rotha's wave.

BB

'Tis fittest thus! for though with skill
He sang of beck and tarn and ghyll, ų
The deep, authentic mountain-thrill
Ne'er shook his page!

Somewhat of worldling mingled still
With bard and sage.

And 'twere less meet for him to lie
Guarded by summits lone and high
That traffic with the eternal sky
And hear, unawed,

The everlasting fingers ply
The loom of God,

Than in this hamlet of the plain:
A less sublime repose to gain,
Where Nature, genial and urbane,
To man defers,

Yielding to us the right to reign,
Which yet is hers.

And nigh to where his bones abide,
The Thames with its unruffled tide
Seems like his genius typified-

Its strength, its grace,

Its lucid gleam, its sober pride,
Its tranquil face.

But ah! not his the eventual fate
Which doth the journeying wave await-
Doomed to resign its limpid state

And quickly grow

Turbid as passion, dark as hate,
And wide as woe.

Rather, it may be over much

He shunned the common stain and smutch. From soilure of ignoble touch

Too grandly free,

Too loftily secure in such
Cold purity,

But he preserved from chance control
The fortress of his 'stablisht soul;
In all things sought to see the whole;
Brooked no disguise;.

And set his heart upon the goal,
Not on the prize.

With those Elect he shall survive
Who seem not to compete or strive,
Yet with the foremost still arrive,
Prevailing still:

Spirits with whom the stars connive
To work their will.

And ye, the baffled many, who,
Dejected, from afar off view
The easily victorious few

Of calm renown,

Have ye not your sad glory too,
And mournful crown ?

Great is the facile conqueror ;
Yet haply he, who wounded sore,
Breathless, unhorsed, all covered o'er
With blood and sweat

Sinks foiled, but fighting evermore,
Is greater yet.

Who bade thee do and suffer bids thee rest : Sleep, greatest Hohenzollern, on His breast.

He gave thee strength of body and soul, and then

He gave thee will to do and think for men,

He taught thee to possess thy soul and wait : He called thee to the ruler's high estate,

Soldier and statesman, great in field and rede,

Strong in thy thought and glorious in thy

Yet mightier strength and brighter glory shed,

Kaiser, on thee, by suffering perfected :

For more than Empire welded, battle won, Is to have learnt to say Thy Will be done.

So, on thy life of life He wrote it plain, All the divine significance of pain.

Thee, when the great death-angel came, he found

King unanointed, emperor uncrowned.

Better than gold and oil of sovranty,

His patience crowned thee and anointed

thee;

Thee by His grace who loved and did and bore,

King over pain and suffering's emperor.

HAREBELLS

Blue bells, on blue hills, where the sky is blue,

Here's a little blue-gowned maid come to look at you;

Here's a little child would fain, at the vesper

time,

Catch the music of your hearts, hear the harebells chime,

Little hares, little hares," softly prayeth she,

'Come, come across the hills, and ring the bells for me.

When do hares ring the bells, does my lady say?

Is it when the sky is rosed with the coming day?

Is it in the strength of noon, all the earth aglow ?

Is it when at eventide sweet dew falleth

slow ?