And spoke of a hope for the world in the coming

wars

'And in that hope, dear soul, let trouble have rest, Knowing I tarry for thee,' and pointed to Mars As he glow'd like a ruddy shield on the Lion's

breast.

2.

And it was but a dream, yet it yielded a dear

delight

To have look'd, tho' but in a dream, upon eyes so

fair,

That had been in a weary world my one thing

bright;

And it was but a dream, yet it lighten'd my despair When I thought that a war would arise in defence

of the right,

That an iron tyranny now should bend or cease, The glory of manhood stand on his ancient height. Nor Britain's one sole God be the millionnaire :

No more shall commerce be all in all, and Peace
Pipe on her pastoral hillock a languid note,
And watch her harvest ripen, her herd increase,
Nor the cannon-bullet rust on the slothful shore,
And the cobweb woven across the cannon's throat,
Shall shake its threaded tears in the wind no more.

3

And as months ran on and rumor of battle grew,

It is time, it is time, O passionate heart,' said 1

(For I cleaved to a cause that I felt to be pure and

true),

It is time, O passionate heart and morbid eye,

That old hysterical mock-disease should die.'

And I stood on a giant deck and mixed my breath With a loyal people shouting a battle cry,

Till I saw the dreary phantom arise and fly

Far into the North, and battle, and seas of death.

4.

Let it go or stay, so I wake to the higher aims

Of a land that has lost for a little her lust of gold,

And love of a peace that was full of wrongs and

shames,

Horrible, hateful, monstrous, not to be told;

And hail once more to the banner of battle

unroll'd!

Tho' many a light shall darken, and many shall

weep

For those that are crush'd in the clash of jarring

claims,

Yet God's just doom shall be wreak'd on a giant

liar;

And many a darkness into the light shall leap,

And shine in the sudden making of splendid names

And noble thought be freer under the sun,

And the heart of a people beat with one desire;

For the long, long canker of peace is over and done,

And now by the side of the Black and the Baltic

deep,

And deathful-grinning mouths of the fortress,

flames

The blood-red blossom of war with a heart of fire.

THE BROOK;

AN IDYL.

HERE, by this brook, we parted; I to the East And he for Italy — too late too late:

One whom the strong sons of the world despise;
For lucky rhymes to him were scrip and share,
And mellow metres more than cent for cent;
Nor could he understand how money breeds,
Thought it a dead thing; yet himself could make
The thing that is not as the thing that is.

O had he lived! In our school-books we say,
Of those that held their heads above the crowd,

They flourish'd then or then; but life in him