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All are scattered now and fled,

Some are married, some are dead; And when I ask, with throbs of pain, "Ah! when shall they all meet again?" As in the days long-since gone by, The ancient timepiece makes reply,— "Forever-never! Never-forever!"

Never here, forever there,

Where all parting, pain, and care,
And death, and time shall disappear,
Forever there, but never here!
The horologe of Eternity
Sayeth this incessantly,-
66 'Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

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THOU Comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain,
With banners, by great gales incessant fanned,
Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand,
And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain!
Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne,*
Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand
Outstretched with benedictions o'er the land,
Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain.
Thy shield is the red harvest moon, suspended
So long beneath the heaven's o'erhanging eaves;
Thy steps are by the farmer's prayers attended;
Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves;
And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid,
Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves!

DANTE.

TUSCAN, that wanderest through the realms of gloom,
With thoughtful pace, and sad majestic eyes,
Stern thoughts and awful from thy soul arise,
Like Farinata from his fiery tomb,

Thy sacred song is like the trump of doom;
Yet in thy heart what human sympathies,
What soft compassion glows, as in the skies
The tender stars their clouded lamps relume!
Methinks I see thee stand, with pallid cheeks,
By Fra Hilario in his diocese,

As up the convent-walls, in golden streaks,

The ascending sunbeams mark the day's decrease;

Charlemagne may be called by pre-eminence the monarch of farmers. According to the German tradition, in seasons of great abundance his spirit crosses the Rhine on a golden bridge at Bingen, and blesses the corn-fields and the vineyards. During his lifetime, he did not disdain, says Montesquieu, "to ell the eggs from the farmyards of his domains, and the superfluous vegetables of his gardens; while he distributed among his people the wealth of the Lombards, and the immense treasures of the Huns,'

And, as he asks what there the stranger seeks, Thy voice along the cloister whispers, "Peace!"

THE EVENING STAR.

Lo! in the painted oriel of the West,
Whose panes the sunken sun incarnadines
Like a fair lady at her casement, shines
The Evening Star, the star of love and rest!
And then anon she doth herself divest
Of all her radiant garments, and reclines
Behind the sombre screen of yonder pines,
With slumber and soft dreams of love oppressed.

O my beloved, my sweet Hesperus !

My morning and my evening star of love!
My best and gentlest lady! even thus,
As that fair planet in the sky above,
Dost thou retire unto thy rest at night,

And from thy darkened window fades the light.

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As one who, walking in the twilight gloom,
Hears round about him voices as it darkens,
And seeing not the forms from which they come,
Pauses from time to time, and turns and hearkens;

So walking here, in twilight, O my friends!

I hear your voices, softened by the distance, And pause, and turn to listen, as each sends

His words of friendship, comfort, and assistance.

If any thought of mine, or sung or told,

Has ever given delight or consolation,
Ye have repaid me back a thousandfold,
By every friendly sign and salutation.

Thanks for the sympathies that ye have shown!
Thanks for each kindly word, each silent token,
That teaches me, when seeming most alone,

Friends are around us, though no word be spoken.

Kind messages, that pass from land to land;

Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history,

In which we feel the pressure of a hand,

One touch of fire, -and all the rest is mystery!

The pleasant books, that silently among

Our household treasures take familiar places,

And are to us as if a living tongue

Spake from the printed leaves or pictured faces!

Perhaps on earth I never shall behold,

With eye of sense, your outward form and semblance;

Therefore to me ye never will grow old,

But live for ever young in my remembrance.

Never grow old, nor change, nor pass away!
Your gentle voices will flow on for ever,
When life grows bare and tarnished with decay,
As through a leafless landscape flows a river.
Not chance of birth or place has made us friends,

Being oftentimes of different tongues and nations,

But the endeavour for the selfsame ends,

With the same hopes, and fears, and aspirations. Therefore I hope to join your seaside walk,

Saddened, and mostly silent, with emotion; Not interrupting with intrusive talk

The grand, majestic symphonies of ocean, Therefore I hope, as no unwelcome guest,

At your warm fireside, when the lamps are lighted, To have my place reserved among the rest, Nor stand as one unsought and uninvited!

BY THE SEASIDE.

THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP

"BUILD me straight, O worthy Master!
Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel,
That shall laugh at all disaster,

And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!"

The merchant's word

Delighted the Master heard;

For his heart was in his work, and the heart

Giveth grace unto every Art.

A quiet smile played round his lips,

As the eddies and dimples of the tide
Play round the bows of ships,

That steadily at anchor ride.

And with a voice that was full of glee,

He answered, "Ere long we will launch

A vessel as goodly, and strong, and staunch,
As ever weathered a wintry sea!"

And first with nicest skill and art,
Perfect and finished in every part,
A little model the Master wrought,
Which should be to the larger plan
What the child is to the man,
Its counterpart in miniature;

That with a hand more swift and sure
The greater labour might be brought
To answer to his inward thought.
And as he laboured, his mind ran o'er
The various ships that were built of yore,
And above them all, and strangest of all
Towered the Great Harry, crank and tall,
Whose picture was hanging on the wall,
With bows and stern raised high in air,
And balconies hanging here and there,
And signal lanterns and flags afloat,

And eight round towers, like those that frown

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