196 POEMS, TALES, AND SONGS. “Is that all they come with ?" The answer was "No! With cordage of steel they have bound The fair form of Freedom, and with a dread blow 'T is stretched at thy feet on the ground!” “What more do they offer? my worshippers bold; What sacrifice sacred beside ?" "Wealth! wealth!" was the answer, gold! A right royal, high-rolling tide!" 66 A river ""T is well! and what else do the devotees bring?" The answer was, "Fortune the fair! And Hope for the future-a joy-jewelled thing, "What more do the worshippers offer—what more?” But still, diving deeper,—And what else? he said, Like one in rich ruins who delves; And Pride, from the red reeking gaps of the dead, Made answer" THEY OFFER THEMSELVES! Still the war-god saith to his servant, Pride; POEMS, TALES, AND SONGS. 197 So Pride and Ambition compel them to come ;— With blast of the trumpet and roll of the drum, PART IV. It was thus that one of the bright band sung, But the light went down and a darkness hung And the angel of pity peer'd over the steep, But tell us, Where lingered the beautiful band— And tell us the name of the favour'd land, The spot where they linger'd, in fair array, The people with whom they prefer to stay, But the angel of pity, who over the steep With his harp beside him, could only weep, Yet they who had come from the shining spheres,— Who but to be young were born,— The sun had gone down as one goeth to rest, And the shadows had woven a veil for the West, As perfect the peace as the silence of death, But who are the shining ones, sweetly fair, And there they listened—that angel band— They heard-from many a shining sphere, The circle of young and fair,- A song celestial, sweetly clear, In the truth-illumin'd air. O who could have dream'd in the days long past, And after wide wandering, would at the last, Yet the band of bright spirits that round the world Went forth on the wings of day, Their plumes in the land of their choice have furl'd, And shall they not welcomely stay? THE BIRD-NEST IN THE LING. FORSAKEN and alone it lies Forsaken in the snows; Above it coldly bend the skies, Storm wildly round it blows; And sweet bloom fringed the fair retreat— The bird-nest in the ling. What hour, aforetime, met the morn, The warbling of the bird, Are now, along the scene forlorn, Sounds wild and mournful heard; For wind and rain to hill and plain, But joy will visit yet again O heart, that like the bird-nest lone, And hearest but the tempest tone THE BURDEN IN THE BREAST. WHO bears his burden on his back, Will surely weary grow, O'er houseless hills of snow; Home reached, however, all his cares Who on his shoulder lays his load, |