All the soul in rapt suspension,
All the quivering, palpitating
Chords of life in utmost tension,
With the fervour of invention,

With the rapture of creating!
Ah, Prometheus! heaven-scaling!
In such hours of exultation
Even the faintest heart, unquailing,.
Might behold the vulture sailing
Round the cloudy crags Caucasian!
Though to all there is not given

Strength for such sublime endeavour, Thus to scale the walls of heaven, And to leaven with fiery leaven

All the hearts of men for ever; Yet all bards, whose hearts unblighted Honour and believe the presage, Hold aloft their torches lighted, Gleaming through the realms benighted, As they onward bear the message!

THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUS-
TINE.

SAINT AUGUSTINE! well hast thou said,
That of our vices we can frame
A ladder,* if we will but tread

Beneath our feet each deed of
shame!

All common things, each day's events, That with the hour begin and end, Our pleasures and our discontents,

Are rounds by which we may ascend. The low desire, the base design,

That makes another's virtues less;
The revel of the treacherous wine,
And all occasions of excess;
The longing for ignoble things;

The strife for triumph more than truth;

The hardening of the heart, that brings Irreverence for the dreams of youth; All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds,

That have their root in thoughts of ill; Whatever hinders or impedes

The action of the noble will;—

*The words of St. Augustine are, "De vitiis nostris scalam nobis facimus, si vitia ipsa calcamus."-SERMON III. De Ascensione.

All these must first be trampled down Beneath our feet, if we would gain In the bright fields of fair renown

The right of eminent domain.

We have not wings, we cannot soar; But we have feet to scale and climb, By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time. The mighty pyramids of stone

That wedge-like cleave the desert
airs,

When nearer seen and better known,
Are but gigantic flights of stairs.
The distant mountains, that uprear
Their solid bastions to the skies,
Are crossed by pathways, that
As we to higher levels rise.
The heights by great men reached and
kept

appear

Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night. Standing on what too long we bore With shoulders bent and downcast

A ship sailed from New Haven, And the keen and frosty airs, That filled her sails at parting. Were heavy with good men's prayers. "O Lord! if it be thy pleasure"Thus prayed the old divine"To bury our friends in the ocean, Take them, for they are thine!" But Master Lamberton muttered, And under his breath said he, "This ship is so crank and walty,

I fear our grave she will be! And the ships that came from England When the winter months were gone, Brought no tidings of this vessel,

Nor of Master Lamberton. This put the people to praying

That the Lord would let them hear What in his greater wisdom

He had done with friends so dear. And at last their prayers were answered:

It was in the month of June,

An hour before the sunset

Of a windy afternoon,

When, steadily steering landward,
A ship was seen below,

And they knew it was Lamberton,
Master,

Who sailed so long ago.

On she came, with a cloud of canvas, Right against the wind that blew, Until the eye could distinguish

The faces of the crew. Then fell her straining topmasts, Hanging tangled in the shrouds; And her sails were loosened and lifted, And blown away like clouds. And the masts, with all their rigging, Fell slowly, one by one; And the hulk dilated and vanished, As a sea-mist in the sun! And the people who saw this marvel Each said unto his friend, That this was the mould of their vessel, And thus her tragic end. And the pastor of the village

Gave thanks to God in prayer, That, to quiet their troubled spirits, He had sent this Ship of Air.

HAUNTED HOUSES.

ALL houses wherein men have lived and died

Are haunted houses. Through the open doors

The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,

With feet that make no sound upon the floors.

We meet them at the doorway, on the stair,

Along the passages they come and go, Impalpable impressions on the air, A sense of something moving to and fro.

There are more guests at table than the hosts

Invited; the illuminated hall Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,

As silent as the pictures on the wall. The stranger at my fireside cannot see The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;

He but perceives what is; while unto

And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud

And lowliness and humility,

Throws o'er the sea a floating bridge of light, Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd

Into the realm of mystery and night,So from the world of spirits there descends

A bridge of light, connecting it with this,

O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,

Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.

DAYLIGHT AND MOONLIGHT.
IN broad daylight, and at noon,
Yesterday I saw the moon
Sailing high, but faint and white,
As a schoolboy's paper kite.
In broad daylight, yesterday,
I read a Poet's mystic lay;
And it seemed to me at most
As a phantom or a ghost.
But at length the feverish day
Like a passion died away,
And the night, serene and still,
Fell on village, vale, and hill.
Then the moon, in all her pride,
Like a spirit glorified,

Filled and overflowed the night
With revelations of her light.
And the Poet's song again
Passed like music through my brain;
Night interpreted to me
All its grace and mystery.

The richest and rarest of all dowers? Who shall tell us? No one speaks; No colour shoots into those cheeks,

Either of anger or of pride,

At the rude question we have asked; Nor will the mystery be unmasked

By those who are sleeping at her side. Hereafter? And do you think to look On the terrible pages of that Book

To find her failings, faults, and errors? Ah, you will then have other cares, In your own short-comings and despairs, In your own secret sins and terrors!

THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S NEST. ONCE the Emperor Charles of Spain,

With his swarthy, grave commanders, I forget in what campaign, Long besieged, in mud and rain,

Some old frontier town of Flanders. Up and down the dreary camp, In great boots of Spanish leather, Striding with a measured tramp, These Hidalgos, dull and damp, Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather.

Thus as to and fro they went,

Over upland and through hollow, Giving their impatience vent, Perched upon the Emperor's tent

In her nest they spied a swallow.
Yes, it was a swallow's nest,

Built of clay and hair of horses,
Mane, or tail, or dragoon's crest,
Found on hedge-rows east and west,
After skirmish of the forces.
Then an old Hidalgo said,

As he twirled his gray mustachio,
"Sure this swallow overhead
Thinks the Emperor's tent a shed,
And the Emperor but a Macho!"*
Hearing his imperial name

Coupled with those words of malice, Half in anger, half in shame, Forth the great campaigner came Slowly from his canvas palace.

*Macho, in Spanish, signifies a mule. Golondrina is the feminine form of Golondrino, a swallow, and also a cant name for a deserter.

"Let no hand the bird molest," Said he solemnly, "nor hurt her!" Adding then, by way of jest, "Golondrina is my guest,

'Tis the wife of some deserter!" Swift as bowstring speeds a shaft, Through the camp was spread the

rumour,

And the soldiers, as they quaffed
Flemish beer at dinner, laughed

At the Emperor's pleasant humour. So unharmed and unafraid

Sat the swallow still and brooded, Till the constant cannonade Through the walls a breach had made, And the siege was thus concluded. Then the army, elsewhere bent, Struck its tents as if disbanding, Only not the Emperor's tent, For he ordered, ere he went,

Very curtly, "Leave it standing!" So it stood there all alone,

Loosely flapping, torn and tattered, Till the brood was fledged and flown, Singing o'er those walls of stone

Which the cannon-shot had shattered.

THE GOLDEN MILE-STONE. LEAFLESS are the trees; their purple branches

Spread themselves abroad, like reefs of coral, Rising silent

In the Red Sea of the Winter sunset. From the hundred chimneys of the village,

Like the Afreet in the Arabian story, Smoky columns

Tower aloft into the air of amber. At the window winks the flickering firelight;

Here and there the lamps of evening glimmer,

Social watch-fires Answering one another through the darkness.

On the hearth the lighted logs are glowing,

And like Ariel in the cloven pine-tree For its freedom

Groans and sighs the air imprisoned in them.

Pride and humiliation hand in hand Walked with them through the world where'er they went ;

Trampled and beaten were they as the sand,

And yet unshaken as the continent. For in the background figures vague and vast

Of patriarchs and of prophets rose sublime,

And all the great traditions of the Past They saw reflected in the coming time. And thus for ever with reverted look The mystic volume of the world they

read, Spelling it backward, like a Hebrew book,

Till life became a Legend of the Dead. But ah! what once has been shall be