ALLEGRA.

I WOULD more natures were like thine,
That never casts a glance before,-
Thou Hebe, who thy heart's bright wine
So lavishly to all dost pour,

That we who drink forget to pine,

And can but dream of bliss in store.

Thou canst not see a shade in life;
With sunward instinct thou dost rise,
And, leaving clouds below at strife,
Gazest undazzled at the skies,
With all their blazing splendors rife,
A songful lark with eagle's eyes.

Thou wast some foundling whom the Hours
Nursed, laughing, with the milk of Mirth;
Some influence more gay than ours

Hath ruled thy nature from its birth,

As if thy natal stars were flowers

That shook their seeds round thee on earth.

And thou, to lull thine infant rest,
Wast cradled like an Indian child;
All pleasant winds from south and west
With lullabies thine ears beguiled,
Rocking thee in thine oriole's nest,
Till Nature looked at thee and smiled.

Thine every fancy seems to borrow
A sunlight from thy childish years,

Making a golden cloud of sorrow,
A hope-lit rainbow out of tears,—
Thy heart is certain of to-morrow,
Though 'yond to-day it never peers.

I would more natures were like thine,
So innocently wild and free,

Whose sad thoughts, even, leap and shine,
Like sunny wavelets in the sea,
Making us mindless of the brine,
In gazing on the brilliancy.

THE FOUNTAIN.

INTO the sunshine,
Full of the light,
Leaping and flashing
From morn till night!

Into the moonlight,
Whiter than snow,
Waving so flower-like

When the winds blow!

Into the starlight
Rushing in spray,
Happy at midnight,
Happy by day!

Ever in motion,

Blithesome and cheery, Still climbing heavenward,

Never aweary ;—

Glad of all weathers,

Still seeming best,
Upward or downward,
Motion thy rest ;—

Full of a nature
Nothing can tame,
Changed every moment,
Ever the same ;—

VOL. I.

Ceaseless aspiring,

Ceaseless content,
Darkness or sunshine
Thy element;-

Glorious fountain!
Let my heart be
Fresh, changeful, constant,
Upward, like thee!

3

ODE.

I.

IN the old days of awe and keen-eyed wonder,
The Poet's song with blood-warm truth was rife;
He saw the mysteries which circle under

The outward shell and skin of daily life.
Nothing to him were fleeting time and fashion,
His soul was led by the eternal law;

There was in him no hope of fame, no passion,
But, with calm, godlike eyes, he only saw.
He did not sigh o'er heroes dead and buried,
Chief-mourner at the Golden Age's hearse,
Nor deem that souls whom Charon grim had ferried
Alone were fitting themes of epic verse:
He could believe the promise of to-morrow,
And feel the wondrous meaning of to-day;
He had a deeper faith in holy sorrow

Than the world's seeming loss could take away. To know the heart of all things was his duty,

All things did sing to him to make him wise, And, with a sorrowful and conquering beauty, The soul of all looked grandly from his eyes. He gazed on all within him and without him, He watched the flowing of Time's steady tide, And shapes of glory floated all about him

And whispered to him, and he prophesied. Than all men he more fearless was and freer, And all his brethren cried with one accord,"Behold the holy man! Behold the Seer!

Him who hath spoken with the unseen Lord!" He to his heart with large embrace had taken The universal sorrow of mankind,

And, from that root, a shelter never shaken,