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That pledge is answered.

To thy ear The unchained city sends its cheer, And, tuned to joy, the muffled bells of fear

Ring Victor in. The land sits free

And happy by the summer sea, And Bourbon Naples now is Italy !

She smiles above her broken chain

The languid smile that follows pain, Stretching her cramped limbs to the sun again.

(, joy for all, who hear her call

From Camaldoli's convent-wall
And Elmo's towers to freedom's carnival !

A new life breathes among her vines

And olives, like the breath of pines Blown downward from the breezy Åpennines.

Lean, () my friend, to meet that breath,

Rejoice as one who witnesseth
Beauty from ashes rise, and life from death!

Thy sorrow shall no more be pain,

Its tears shall fall in sunlit rain, Writing the grave with flowers: “Arisen again!”

THE SUMMONS.

My ear is full of summer sounds,

Of summer sights my languid eye ;
Beyond the dusty village bounds
I loiter in my daily rounds,

And in the noon-time shadows lie.

I hear the wild bee wind his horn,

The bird swings on the ripened wheat,
The long green lances of the corn
Are tilting in the winds of morn,
The locust shrills his

song

of heat. Another sound my spirit hears,

A deeper sound that drowns them all,-
A voice of pleading choked with tears,
The call of human hopes and fears,

The Macedonian cry to Paul!
The storm-bell rings, the trumpet blows;

I know the word and countersign;
Wherever Freedom's vanguard goes,
Where stand or fall her friends or foes,

I know the place that should be mine. Shamed be the hands that idly fold,

And lips that woo the reed's accord, When laggard Time the hour has tolled For true with false and new with old

To fight the battles of the Lord ! O brothers ! blest by partial Fate

With power to match the will and deed, To him your summons comes too late Who sinks beneath his armor's weight,

And has no answer but God-speed !

THE WAITING.

I WAIT and watch : before my eyes

Methinks the night grows thin and gray ; I wait and watch the eastern skies

To see the golden spears uprise

Beneath the oriflamme of day!

Like one whose limbs are bound in trance

I hear the day-sounds swell and grow, And see across the twilight glance, Troop after troop, in swift advance,

The shining ones with plumes of snow! I know the errand of their feet,

I know what mighty work is theirs ;
I can but lift up hands unmeet,
The threshing-floors of God to beat,

And speed them with unworthy prayers. I will not dream in vain despair

The steps of progress wait for me:
The puny leverage of a hair
The planet's impulse well may spare,

A drop of dew the tided sea.

The loss, if loss there be, is mine,

And yet not mine if understood; For one shall grasp and one resign, One drink life's rue, and one its wine,

And God shall make the balance good. O power to do! O baffled will!

O prayer and action ! ye are one Who may not strive, may yet fulfil The harder task of standing still,

And good but wished with God is done!

MOUNTAIN PICTURES.

I.

FRANCONIA FROM THE PEMIGEWASSET,

Once more, O Mountains of the North, unveil

Your brows, and lay your cloudy mantles by !
And once more, ere the eyes that seek ye fail,

Uplift against the blue walls of the sky
Your mighty shapes, and let the sunshine weave

Its golden net-work in your belting woods,

Smile down in rainbows from your falling floods, And on your kingly brows at morn and eve

Set crowns of fire! So shall my soul receive
Haply the secret of your calm and strength,

Your unforgotten beauty interfuse
My common life, your glorious shapes and hues
And sun-dropped splendors at my bidding come,
Loom vast through dreams, and stretch in bil-

lowy length
From the sea-level of my lowland home!
They rise before me! Last night's thunder-gust
Roared not in vain : for where its lightnings thrust
Their tongues of fire, the great peaks seem so near,
Burned clean of mist, so starkly bold and clear,
I almost pause the wind in the pines to hear,
The loose rock’s fall, the steps of browsing deer.
The clouds that shattered on yon slide-worn walls

And splintered on the rocks their spears of rain Have set in play a thousand waterfalls, Making the dusk and silence of the woods Glad with the laughter of the chasing floods, And luminous with blown spray and silver gleams, While, in the vales below, the dry-lipped streams

Sing to the freshened meadow-lands again.

So, let me hope, the battle-storm that beats

The land with hail and fire may pass away
With its spent thunders at the break of day,
Like last night's clouds, and leave, as it retreats,

A greener earth and fairer sky behind,
Blown crystal-clear by Freedom's Northern wind!

II.

MONADNOCK FROM WACHUSET.

I would I were a painter, for the sake

Of a sweet picture, and of her who led,

A fitting guide, with reverential tread, Into that mountain mystery. First, a lake Tinted with sunset; next the wavy lines

Of far receding hills; and yet more far, Monadnock listing from his night of pines His

rosy forehead to the evening star. Beside us, purple-zoned, Wachuset laid His head against the West, whose warm light made

His aureole ; and o'er him, sharp and clear, Like a shaft of lightning in mid-launching stayed,

A single level cloud-line, shone upon
By the fierce glances of the sunken sun,

Menaced the darkness with its golden spear ! So twilight deepened round us. Still and black The great woods climbed the mountain at our back; And on their skirts, where yet the lingering day On the shorn greenness of the clearing lay,

The brown old farm-house like a bird's nest hung. With home-life sounds the desert air was stirred: The bleat of sheep along the hill we heard, The bucket plashing in the cool, sweet well, The pasture-bars that clattered as they fell ; Dogs barked, fowls fluttered, cattle lowed; the gate

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