40 THE REVELLERS. But thou, though a reckless mien be thine, And thy cup be crowned with the foaming wine, By thine eye's quick flash through its troubled cloud, Of a haunted bosom that brings thee here! I know thee! thou fearest the solemn night, With her piercing stars and her deep wind's might! There's a tone in her voice which thou fain wouldst shun For it asks what the secret soul hath done! And thou, there's a dark weight on thine — away —— Back to thy home and pray! Ring, joyous chords! ring out again! And bring fresh wreaths! we will banish all That still should be where the mirthful meet? They are gone, they are fled, they are parted all : EXHORTATION TO COURAGE. 4I EXHORTATION TO COURAGE. SHAKESPEARE. BUT wherefore do you droop? why look you sad? Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire; COUNTRY AND PATRIOTISM. FESTUS. I LOVE my God, my country, kind and kin; 42 THE OLD HOME. Hast thou secured the blessing; and if one Be he, too, cursed while living, and when dead, THE OLD HOME. TENNYSON. WE leave the well-belovéd place We go, but ere we go from home, One whispers: "Here thy boyhood sung Long since its matin song, and heard In native hazels tassel-hung." The other answers: — "Yea, but here NATURE. These two have striven half the day, I turn to go: my feet are set To leave the pleasant fields and farms; NATURE. YOUNG. 43 Look Nature through, 'tis revolution all; and night Blows Autumn and his golden fruits away; Then melts into the Spring; soft Spring, with breath Favonian, from warm chambers of the south, Recalls the first. All, to re-flourish, As in a wheel, all sinks, to reascend fades ; Emblems of man, who passes, not expires. No glance of eye, No clustering curls of golden hair, Fair but to die! One year ago. what loves, what schemes Far into life! What joyous hopes, what high resolves, What generous strife! The silent picture on the wall, The burial stone, Of all that beauty, life, and joy, Remain alone! One year one year And so much gone! one little year, And yet the even flow of life Moves calmly on. The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair, Above that head; No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray Says he is dead. |