From pole unto pole, and from clime to clime,
Like the roll of the wheels of the hasting of time ;-
A sound as of cities, and sound as of swords
Sharpening, and solemn and terrible words,
And laughter as solemn, and thunderous drumming,
A tread as if all the world were coming.
And then was a lull, and soft voices sweet
Call'd into music those terrible feet,

Which rising on wings, lo! the earth went round
To the burn of their speed with a golden sound;
With a golden sound, and a swift repose

Such as the blood in the young heart knows;
Such as Love knows, when his tumults cease,
When all is quick, and yet all is at peace.
And when Captain Sword got up next morn,
Lo! a new-fac'd world was born;

For not an anger nor pride would it shew,
Nor aught of the loftiness now found low,
Nor would his own men strike a single blow:
Not a blow for their old, unconsidering lord
Would strike the good soldiers of Captain Sword;
But weaponless all, and wise they stood,
In the level dawn, and calm brotherly good;
Yet bow'd to him they, and kiss'd his hands,
For such were their new lord's commands,
Lessons rather, and brotherly plea;
Reverence still the past, quoth he;
Reverence the struggle and mystery,
And faces human in their pain;
Nor his the least, that could sustain
Cares of mighty wars, and guide
Calmly where the red deaths ride.

"But how! what now?" cried Captain Sword; "Not a blow for your gen'ral? not even a word? What! traitors? deserters ?"

"Ah no!" cried they ;

"But the game's at an end; the "wise won't play."

"And where's your old spirit ?"

"The same, though another;

Man may be strong without maiming his brother."

"But enemies?"

"Enemies! Whence should they come, When all interchange what was known but to some?" "But famine? but plague? worse evils by far."

"O last mighty rhet'ric to charm us to war! Look round-what has earth, now it equably speeds, To do with these foul and calamitous needs? Now it equably speeds, and thoughtfully glows, And its heart is open, never to close ?

"Still I can govern," said Captain Sword; "Fate I respect; and I stick to my word." And in truth so he did; but the word was one He had sworn to all tyrannies under the sun, To do, for the people, the least could be done. Besides, what had he with his worn-out story To do with the cause he had wrong'd and the glory?

No: Captain Sword a sword was still,
He could not unteach his lordly will;
He could not attemper his single thought;
It might not be bent, nor newly wrought:
And so, like the tool of a disus'd art,
He stood at his wall, and rusted apart.

'Twas only for many-soul'd Captain Pen To make a world of swordless men.

BLUE-STOCKING REVELS;

OR,

THE FEAST OF THE VIOLETS.

CANTO I.

Shewing what sort of rebuke Apollo gave his Nymphs, and how gods furnish houses.

Lo! I, who in verse flowing smooth as the wine
("Modest youth!") once recorded a dinner divine,*
And shew'd the great god of the sun, entertaining
With wit and crack'd walnuts the poets then reigning;
Now sing, in a dance fitter still for the crupper
Whose wings bore me thither, a more divine supper;
For that was of man, though of Phoebus; but this is
Of Phoebus, and woman, and blue-stocking blisses.
The god, you must know, then, like other bright souls,
Attends not to ev'ry dull curfew that tolls,
But often pays visits at night-time, and sits
Conversing till morning with beauties and wits
In guise of some talker renown'd,—my Carlyle,
Jeffrey, Wilson, or Wordsworth;-joy listens the
while ;-

And in case he 's too late for Aurora, they say,
Some proxy, I know not who, brings up the day;
Which is likely ;—for after a night such as that,
The day, you may notice, is terribly flat.

Well; the eve of last May-day, his work being Apollo sat playing his lute in the sun,

*The "Feast of the Poets."

[done,

As backward his car in the deep began sinking; And round it, the Water-Nymphs, with their eyes winking,

Plash'd, patting the horses, and loos'ning the reins, While the lute through the lustre sent flooding its strains,

When lo! he saw coming towards him, in pairs,
Such doves of Petitions, and loves of sweet Pray'rs,
All landing, as each touch'd his chariot, in sighs,
And begging his aid in behalf of bright eyes,
That it made him look sharper, to see whence
they came :-

The windows on earth, at the flash of that aim,
Burst suddenly all into diamonds and flame.

"By Jove!" said Apollo, "well thought on.I've dined

With the Poets:-'tis now highly proper, I find, To descend (and with finger-tips here he fell trimming

His love-locks celestial) and sup with the Women."

He said; and some messages giving those daughters Of Ocean, arch-eyed, buxom dancers in waters,They gave him some answer (I never heard what) Which they paid for, i'faith, with a dance on the spot; For shaking his locks, and a pleasant frown casting, He thrust his car back with his foot everlasting, And sprang up in air with a bound so divine, As sous'd their sweet souls in the roar of the brine. Then laughing the laugh of the gods, he rose higher, And higher, and higher, on the whirl of his fire, Lark mighty; till choosing his road, like the dove Which bears at its warm bosom letters of love, He shot, all at once, in a long trail of light, [night, Like the star that comes liquidly through the soft And stood in a " House to Let," facing Hyde Park, "Unfurnish'd;"—but not so, ye gods, before dark!

O Seddon ! O Gillow! O Mr. Morell! O Taprell and Holland! O Minter ! O Snell! O ev'ry one else, dear to new married spouses, Don't speak any more of your fitting up houses; Don't mention your sèvres, your buhls, or-moulus; And for ever henceforth have no customers, Hughes: Quench the light of your lustres, great Perry and Ye Bantings, be counted extremely so-so : [Co.: Nay, hold your tongue, Robins ; amaze us no longer In paragraphs, "coming it " stronger and stronger: Cease roaring in great Ă, and wheedling in small; And thou, even thou, greatest gusto of all, Tasteful shade of magnificent, house-warming Guelph, [shelf!" Turn about in thy tomb, and say, "Laid on the

presence,

The house not an instant had felt the god's [quintessence When something-I know not what-but a Of fragrance and purity hallow'd the place, Some spirit of lilies, and crystal, and grace.

His height he had stoop'd, as he enter'd the door, Tow'rds the human; but still his own costume he wore,

Or at least a Greek vest; and be sure he wore bay; In short, was a kind of Apollo d'Orsay.

Then gliding from room to room, like a slow bee, Half a foot from the floor, his lute went playing he, And the sound was a magical charm to invest Whatsoever he look'd on with all he lik'd best. Nor indeed was it strange that his lute should do this, When Amphion, you know, built a city with his.

Thus the ball-room, whose wainscot was stucco before,

Rose in arches of flowers, midway from the floor, All dabbled with dew-drops, and stirr'd with a ["their death," While the rest (for no cold could give shoulders

breath;