The law of force is dead!

The law of love prevails!

Thor, the thunderer,

Shall rule the earth no more,

No more, with threats,

Challenge the meek Christ.

Sing no more,

O ye bards of the North,

Of Vikings and of Jarls!
Of the days of Eld

Preserve the freedom only,

Not the deeds of blood!

SONNET

ON MRS. KEMBLE'S READINGS FROM SHAKSPEARE.

O PRECIOUS evenings! all too swiftly sped!
Leaving us heirs to amplest heritages

Of all the best thoughts of the greatest sages,
And giving tongues unto the silent dead!

How our hearts glowed and trembled as she read,
Interpreting by tones the wondrous pages

Of the great poet who foreruns the ages,
Anticipating all that shall be said!

O happy Reader! having for thy text

The magic book, whose Sibylline leaves have

caught

The rarest essence of all human thought!

O happy Poet! by no critic vext!

How must thy listening spirit now rejoice
To be interpreted by such a voice!

THE SINGERS.

GOD sent his Singers upon earth
With songs of sadness and of mirth,
That they might touch the hearts of men,
And bring them back to heaven again.

The first, a youth, with soul of fire,
Held in his hand a golden lyre ;

Through groves he wandered, and by streams,
Playing the music of our dreams.

The second, with a bearded face,
Stood singing in the market-place,

And stirred with accents deep and loud
The hearts of all the listening crowd.

A gray, old man, the third and last,
Sang in cathedrals dim and vast,
While the majestic organ rolled
Contrition from its mouths of gold.

And those who heard the Singers three
Disputed which the best might be ;

For still their music seemed to start
Discordant echoes in each heart.

But the great Master said, "I see

No best in kind, but in degree;
I gave a various gift to each,

To charm, to strengthen, and to teach.