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THE BLOOD HORSE
GAMARRA is a dainty steed,
Strong, black, and of a noble breed,
Full of fire, and full of bone,
With all his line of fathers known;
Fine his nose, his nostrils thin,

But blown abroad by the pride within!
His mane is like a river flowing,
And his eyes like embers glowing
In the darkness of the night,
And his pace as swift as light.

Look,-how 'round his straining throat
Grace and shifting beauty float!
Sinewy strength is on his reins,

And the red blood gallops through his veins ;
Richer, redder, never ran

Through the boasting heart of man.
He can trace his lineage higher
Than the Bourbon dare aspire,
Douglas, Guzman, or the Guelph,
Or O'Brien's blood itself!

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RACHEL, the beautiful (as she was call'd),
Despis'd our mother Leah, for that she
Was tender-ey'd, lean-favor'd, and did lack
The pulpy ripeness swelling the white skin
To sleek proportions beautiful and round,
With wrinkled joints so fruitful to the eye.
All this is fair and yet we know it true
That 'neath a pomane breast and snowy side
A heart of guile and falsehood may be hid,
As well as where the soil is deeper tinct.
So here with this same Rachel was it found:
The dim blue-laced veins on either brow,
Neath the transparent skin meandering,
That with the silver-leaved lily vied;
Her full dark eye, whose brightness glis-
ten'd through

The sable lashes soft as camel-hair;
Her slanting head curv'd like the maiden

moon

And hung with hair luxuriant as a vine And blacker than a storm; her rounded ear Turn'd like a shell upon some golden shore; Her whispering foot that carried all her weight,

Nor left its little pressure on the sand;
Her lips as drowsy poppies, soft and red,
Gathering a dew from her escaping breath;
Her voice melodious, mellow, deep, and
clear,

Lingering like sweet music in the ear;
Her neck o'ersoften'd like to unsunn'd curd;
Her tapering fingers rounded to a point;
The silken softness of her veined hand;
Her dimpled knuckles answering to her
chin;

And teeth like honeycombs o' the wilder

ness:

All these did tend to a bad proof in her.
For armed thus in beauty she did steal
The eye of Jacob to her proper self,
Engross'd his time, and kept him by her
side,

Casting on Leah indifference and neglect ; Whereat great Heaven took our mother's part

And struck young Rachel with a barrenness, While she bore children: thus the matter

went;

Till Rachel, feeling guilty of her fault, Turn'd to some penitence, which Heaven heard ;

And then she bore this Joseph, who must, and does,

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Contemptible darkness never yet did dull
The splendor of love's palpitating light.
At love's slight curtains, that are made of
sighs,

Though e'er so dark, silence is seen to stand
Like to a flower closed in the night;
Or, like a lovely image drooping down
With its fair head aslant and finger rais'd,
And mutely on its shoulder slumbering.
Pulses do sound quick music in Love's ear,
And blended fragrance in his startled breath
Doth hang the hair with drops of magic dew.
All outward thoughts, all common circum-
stance,

Are buried in the dimple of his smile :
And the great city like a vision sails
From out the closing doors of the hush'd
mind.

His heart strikes audibly against his ribs
As a dove's wing doth freak upon a cage,
Forcing the blood athro' the cramped veins
Faster than dolphins do o'ershoot the tide
Cours'd by the yawning shark. Therefore
I say
Night-blooming Cereus, and the star-flower

sweet,

The honeysuckle, and the eglantine, And the ring'd vinous tree that yields red wine,

Together with all intertwining flowers, Are plants most fit to ramble o'er each other,

And form the bower of all-precious Love, Shrouding the sun with fragrant bloom and leaves

From jealous interception of Love's gaze.
This is Love's cabin in the light of day,
But oh! compare it not with the black
night;

Delay thou sun, and give me instant night-
Its soft, mysterious, and secret hours;
The whitest clouds are pillows to bright

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THE PATRIARCHAL HOME

Joseph. Still I am patient, tho' you're merciless.

Yet to speak out my mind, I do avouch
There is no city feast, nor city show,
The encampment of the king and soldiery.
Rejoicings, revelries, and victories,
Can equal the remembrance of my home
In visible imagination.

Even as he was I see my father now,
His grave and graceful head's benignity
Musing beyond the confines of this world,
His world within with all its mysteries.
What pompless majesty was in his mien,
An image of integrity creates,

Pattern of nature, in perfection.
Lo! in the morning when we issued forth,
The patriarch surrounded by his sons,
Girt round with looks of sweet obedience,
Each struggling who should honor him the
most;

While from the wrinkles deep of many

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And bread with honey sweeten'd, and dried figs,

And pressed curds, and choicest rarities, Stores of the cheerless season of the year ; While at our sides the women of our tribe With pitchers on their heads, fill'd to the brim

With wine, and honey, and with smoking milk,

Made proud the black-ey'd heifers with the swell

Of the sweet anthem sung in plenty's praise. Thus would we journey to the wilderness, And fixing on some peak that did o'erlook The spacious plains that lay display'd beneath,

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The minutes flying faster than our feet
That vaulted nimbly to the pipe and voice,
Making fatigue more sweet by appetite.
There stood the graceful Reuben by my
sire,

Piping a ditty, ardent as the sun,
And, like him, stealing renovation
Into the darkest corner of the soul,

And filling it with light. There, women group'd,

My sisters and their maids, with ears subdued,

With bosoms panting from the eager dance, Against each other lean'd; as I have seen A graceful tuft of lilies of the vale Oppress'd with rain, upon each other bend, While freshness has stol'n o'er them. Some way off

My brothers pitch'd the bar, or plough'd for fame,

Each two with their two heifers harness'd fast

Unto the shaft, and labor'd till the sweat
Had crept about them like a sudden thaw.
Anon they tied an eagle to a tree,
And strove at archery; or with a bear
Struggled for strength of limb.

were no slaves

These

No villain's sons to rifle passengers.
The sports being done, the winners claim'd

the spoil:

Or hide, or feather, or renowned bow,
Or spotted cow, or fleet and pamper'd horse.
And then my father bless'd us, and we sang
Our sweet way home again. Oft I have
ach'd

In memory of these so precious hours,
And wept upon those keys that were my
pride,

And soak'd my pillow thro' the heavy night. Alas! God willing, I'll be patient yet.

THE TRIUMPH OF JOSEPH

In the royal path Came maidens rob'd in white, enchain'd in flowers,

Sweeping the ground with incense-scented palms :

Then came the sweetest voices of the land,

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Save that of eagles could confront the blaze
That seem'd to burn the air, unless it fell
Either on sapphire or carbuncle huge
That riveted the weight.
This car was
drawn

By twelve jet horses, being four abreast,
And pied in their own foam. Within the

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His feet were resting upon Pharaoh's sword;
And on his head a crown of drooping corn
Mock'd that of Ceres in high holiday.
His robes were simple, but were full of
grace,

And (out of love and truth I speak him thus)

I never did behold a man less proud,
More dignified or grateful to admire.
His honors nothing teas'd him from him-
self;

And he but fill'd his fortunes like a man
Who did intend to honor them as much
As they could honor him.

Sir Henrp Taplor

FROM PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE"

JOHN OF LAUNOY

I NEVER look'd that he should live so long.
He was a man of that unsleeping spirit,
He seem'd to live by miracle: his food
Was glory, which was poison to his mind
And peril to his body. He was one
Of many thousand such that die betimes,
Whose story is a fragment, known to few.
Then comes the man who has the luck to live,
And he's a prodigy. Compute the chances,
And deem there 's ne'er a one in dangerous
times

Who wins the race of glory, but than him
A thousand men more gloriously endow'd
Have fallen upon the course; a thousand
others

Have had their fortunes founder'd by a chance,

Whilst lighter barks push'd past them; to whom add

A smaller tally, of the singular few
Who, gifted with predominating powers,
Bear yet a temperate will and keep the
peace.

The world knows nothing of its greatest

men.

REVOLUTIONS

There was a time, so ancient records tell, There were communities, scarce known by

name

In these degenerate days, but once farfam'd,

Where liberty and justice, hand in hand, Order'd the common weal; where great

men grew

Up to their natural eminence, and none, Saving the wise, just, eloquent, were great; Where power was of God's gift, to whom he gave

Supremacy of merit, the sole means And broad highway to power, that ever then

Was meritoriously administer'd,

Whilst all its instruments from first to last, The tools of state for service high or low, Were chosen for their aptness to those ends Which virtue meditates. To shake the ground

Deep-founded whereupon this structure stood,

Was verily a crime; a treason it was,
Conspiracies to hatch against this state
And its free innocence. But now, I ask,
Where is there on God's earth that polity
Which it is not, by consequence converse,
A treason against nature to uphold ?
Whom may we now call free? whom great?

whom wise?

Whom innocent? the free are only they
Whom power makes free to execute all ills
Their hearts imagine; they alone are great
Whose passions nurse them from their cra-
dles up

In luxury and lewdness, - whom to see
Is to despise, whose aspects put to scorn
Their station's eminence; the wise, they

only

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