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Your logic, my friend, is perfect,
Your morals most drearily true;
But, since the earth clashed on her
coffin,

I keep hearing that, and not you.

Console if you will, I can bear it;
'Tis a well-meant alms of breath;
But not all the preaching since Adam
Has made death other than death.

It is pagan; but wait till you feel it; That jar of our earth, that dull shock When the ploughshare of deeper passion

Tears down to our primitive rock.

Communion in spirit! Forgive me! But I, who am earthy and weak, Would give all my incomes from dreamland

For a touch of her hand on my cheek.

That little shoe in the corner,
So worn and wrinkled and brown,
With its emptiness confutes you,
And argues your wisdom down.

[From Under the Willows.]
JUNE.

FRANK-HEARTED hostess of the field and wood,

Gypsy, whose roof is every spreading tree,

June is the pearl of our New England year.

Still a surprisal, though expected long,

Her coming startles. Long she lies in wait,

Makes many a feint, peeps forth, draws coyly back,

Then, from some southern ambush in the sky,

With one great gush of blossom storms the world.

A week ago the sparrow was divine; The blue-bird shifting his light load

of song

From post to post along the cheerless fence,

Was as a rhymer ere the poet come: But now, O rapture! sunshine-winged and voiced,

Pipe blown through by the warm wild breath of the West, Shepherding his soft droves of fleecy cloud,

Gladness of woods, skies, waters all in one,

The bobolink has come, and, like the soul

Of the sweet season vocal in a bird, Gurgles in ecstasy we know not what, Save June! Dear June! Now God be praised for June.

AUF WIEDERSEHEN.
THE little gate was reached at last,

Half hid in lilacs down the lane; She pushed it wide, and, as she past, A wistful look she backward cast,

And said, "Auf wiedersehen!” With hand on latch, a vision white Lingered reluctant, and again Half doubting if she did aright, Soft as the dews that fell that night, She said, "Auf wiedersehen!"

The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair;

I linger in delicious pain; Ah, in that chamber, whose rich air To breathe in thought I scarcely dare,

Thinks she,-"Auf wiedersehen!"

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North, east, and south there are reefs and breakers

You would never dream of in smooth weather,

That toss and gore the sea for acres, Bellowing and gnashing and snarl

ing together; Look northward, where Duck Island lies,

And over its crown you will see arise, Against a background of slaty skies, A row of pillars still and white, That glimmer, and then are out of sight,

As if the moon should suddenly kiss, While you crossed the gusty desert by night,

The long colonnades of Persepolis; Look southward for White Island light,

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HENRY FRANCIS LYTE.

ABIDE WITH ME.

Thou on my head in early youth didst smile;

ABIDE with me! fast falls the even-And, though rebellious and perverse

tide;

The darkness deepens; Lord, with

me abide!

When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,

Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me!

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little

day;

Earth's joys grow dim; its glories

pass away;

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Thou hast not left me, oft as I left meanwhile,

Thee.

On to the close, O Lord, abide with me!

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Who like Thyself my guide and stay

can be ?

Through cloud and sunshine, oh,

abide with me!

Not a brief glance, I beg, a passing I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to

word:

bless:

But as Thou dwelledst with Thy dis-Ills have no weight, and tears no bit

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FROM THE LAY OF "HORATIUS." | Like an eagle's nest hangs on the

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"To arms! to arms! Sir Consul;

Lars Porsena is here."

On the low hills to westward
The Consul fixed his eye,
And saw the swarthy storm of dust
Rise fast along the sky.

And nearer fast and nearer

Doth the red whirlwind come; And louder still, and still more loud, From underneath that rolling cloud, Is heard the trumpets' war-note proud,

The trampling and the hum. And plainly and more plainly

Now through the gloom appears, Far to left and far to right,

In broken gleams of dark-blue light,
The long array of helmets bright,
The long array of spears.

Fast by the royal standard,
O'erlooking all the war,
Lars Porsena of Clusium
Sat in his ivory car.

By the right wheel rode Mamilius,
Prince of the Latian name;
And by the left false Sextus,
That wrought the deed of shame.

But when the face of Sextus
Was seen among the foes,
A yell that rent the firmament
From all the town arose.
On the house-tops was no woman

But spat towards him and hissed, No child but screamed out curses, And shook its little fist.

But the Consul's brow was sad,
And the Consul's speech was low,
And darkly looked he at the wall,
And darkly at the foe:
"Their van will be upon us

Before the bridge goes down;
And if they once may win the bridge,
What hope to save the town ?"

Then out spake brave Horatius,
The Captain of the gate:
"To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds

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