Polar marvels, and a feast

Of wonder, out of West and East,
And shapes and hues of Art divine!
All of beauty, all of use,

That one fair planet can produce.

Brought from under every star,
Blown from over every main,

And mixt, as life is mixt with pain,

The works of peace with works of war.

O ye, the wise who think, the wise who reign,
From growing commerce loose her latest chain,
And let the fair white-winged peacemaker fly
To happy havens under all the sky,

And mix the seasons and the golden hours,
Till each man finds his own in all men's good,
And all men work in noble brotherhood,
Breaking their mailed fleets and armed towers,
And ruling by obeying Nature's powers,
And gathering all the fruits of peace and crown'd
with all her flowers.

A DEDICATION.

EAR, near and true

DE

no truer Time himself

Can prove you, tho' he make you evermore Dearer and nearer, as the rapid of life

Shoots to the fall - take this, and pray that he, Who wrote it, honoring your sweet faith in him, May trust himself; and spite of praise and scorn, As one who feels the immeasurable world,

Attain the wise indifference of the wise; if left to pass

And after Autumn past

His autumn into seeming-leafless days —
Draw toward the long frost and longest night,
Wearing his wisdom lightly, like the fruit
Which in our winter woodland looks a flower.*

THE CAPTAIN.

A LEGEND OF THE NAVY.

H

E that only rules by terror

Doeth grievous wrong.

Deep as Hell I count his error,

Let him hear my song.

Brave the Captain was: the seamen

Made a gallant crew,

Gallant sons of English freemen,

Sailors bold and true.

But they hated his oppression,
Stern he was and rash;

So for every light transgression
Doom'd them to the lash.

Day by day more harsh and cruel
Seem'd the Captain's mood.
Secret wrath like smother'd fuel

Burnt in each man's blood.
Yet he hoped to purchase glory,

Hoped to make the name

*The fruit of the Spindle-tree (Euonymus Europæus.)

Of his vessel great in story,
Wheresoe'er he came.

So they past by capes and islands,
Many a harbor-mouth,

Sailing under palmy highlands

Far within the South.

On a day when they were going
O'er the lone expanse,

In the North, her canvas flowing,
Rose a ship of France.
Then the Captain's color heighten'd,

Joyful came his speech:

But a cloudy gladness lighten'd

In the eyes of each.

"Chase," he said: the ship flew forward,

And the wind did blow;

Stately, lightly, went she Norward,

Till she near'd the foe.

Then they look'd at him they hated,

Had what they desired:

Mute with folded arms they waited

Not a gun was fired.

But they heard the foeman's thunder

Roaring out their doom;

All the air was torn in sunder,

Crashing went the boom,

Spars were splinter'd, decks were shatter'd,

Bullets fell like rain;

Over mast and deck were scatter'd

Blood and brains of men.

Spars were splinter'd; decks were broken:

Down they dropt—no word was spokenEach beside his gun.

On the decks as they were lying,
Were their faces grim.

In their blood, as they lay dying,
Did they smile on him.

Those, in whom he had reliance

For his noble name,

With one smile of still defiance

Sold him unto shame.

Shame and wrath his heart confounded,

Pale he turn'd and red,

Till himself was deadly wounded

Falling on the dead.

Dismal error! fearful slaughter!

Years have wander'd by,
Side by side beneath the water
Crew and Captain lie;
There the sunlit ocean tosses
O'er them mouldering,

And the lonely seabird crosses
With one waft of the wing.

C

THREE SONNETS TO A COQUETTE.

ARESS'D or chidden by the dainty hand,

And singing airy trifles this or that,

Light Hope at Beauty's call would perch and stand, And run thro' every change of sharp and flat;

And Fancy came and at her pillow sat, When Sleep had bound her in his rosy band, And chased away the still-recurring gnat,

And woke her with a lay from fairy land.

432

THREE SONNETS TO A COQUETTE.

But now they live with Beauty less and less,
For Hope is other Hope and wanders far,
Nor cares to lisp in love's delicious creeds;
And Fancy watches in the wilderness,
Poor Fancy sadder than a single star,
That sets at twilight in a land of reeds.

2.

The form, the form alone is eloquent!

A nobler yearning never broke her rest Than but to dance and sing, be gayly drest, And win all eyes with all accomplishment: Yet in the waltzing-circle as we went,

My fancy made me for a moment blest

To find my heart so near the beauteous breast
That once had power to rob it of content.
A moment came the tenderness of tears,
The phantom of a wish that once could move,

A ghost of passion that no smiles restore For ah! the slight coquette, she cannot love, And if you kiss'd her feet a thousand years,

She still would take the praise, and care no more.

3.

Wan Sculptor weepest thou to take the cast
Of those dead lineaments that near thee lie?
O sorrowest thou, pale Painter, for the past,

In painting some dead friend from memory?
Weep on beyond his object Love can last:

His object lives: more cause to weep have I : My tears, no tears of love, are flowing fast,

No tears of love, but tears that Love, can die.

I pledge her not in any cheerful cup,

Nor care to sit beside her where she sits