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ROBERT BROWNING.

Then, welcome each rebuff
That turns earth's smoothness rough,
Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand,
but go!

Be our joys three parts pain!
Strive, and hold cheap the strain;
Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never
grudge the throe!

For thence a paradox

Which comforts while it mocks

Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail :

What I aspired to be,

And was not, comforts me:

205

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Thence shall I pass, approved

A man, for aye removed

From the developed brute; a God though in the germ.

And I shall thereupon

A brute I might have been, but would Take rest, ere I be gone

not sink i' the scale.

What is he but a brute

Whose flesh hath soul to suit,

Once more on my adventure brave and

new:

Fearless and unperplexed,

When I wage battle next,

Whose spirit works lest arms and legs What weapons to select, what armor to

want play?

To man, propose this test,

Thy body at its best,

indue.

Youth ended, I shall try

How far can that project thy soul on its My gain or loss thereby;

lone way?

Yet gifts should prove their use:

I own the Past profuse

Of power each side, perfection every turn:

Eyes, ears took in their dole,

Brain treasured up the whole;

Be the fire ashes, what survives is gold: And I shall weigh the same,

Give life its praise or blame :

Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, being old.

For note, when evening shuts,

Should not the heart beat once, "How A certain moment cuts

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Maker, remake, complete, I trust what Let me discern, compare, pronounce at

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For more is not reserved

To man, with soul just nerved

gain most, as To act to-morrow what he learns to-day :

I strove, made head, gained ground upon

the whole!"

As the bird wings and sings,

Here, work enough to watch

The Master work, and catch

Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play.

As it was better, youth

Should strive, through acts uncouth,

Toward making, than repose on aught All men ignored in me,

found made;

So, better, age, exempt

From strife, should know, than tempt Further. Thou waitedst age; wait death nor be afraid!

Enough now, if the Right

And Good and Infinite

This I was worth to God, whose wheel
the pitcher shaped.

Ay, note that Potter's wheel,
That metaphor! and feel

Why time spins fast, why passive lies our
clay,

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Thou, to whom fools propound,

Be named here, as thou callest thy hand When the wine makes its round,

thine own,

With knowledge absolute,

Subject to no dispute

"Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize to-day!"

From fools that crowded youth, nor let Fool! All that is, at all,

thee feel alone.

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Be there, for once and all,
Severed great minds from small,

Lasts ever, past recall;

Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure:

What entered into thee,

Announced to each his station in the That was, is, and shall be:

Past!

Was I, the world arraigned,

Were they, my soul disdained,

Time's wheel runs back or stops: Potter and clay endure.

Right? Let age speak the truth and He fixed thee mid this dance

give us peace at last!

Now, who shall arbitrate?

Ten men love what I hate,

Of plastic circumstance,

This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain

arrest:

Machinery just meant

To give thy soul its bent,

Shun what I follow, slight what I re- Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently

ceive;

Ten, who in ears and eyes

Match me we all surmise,

impressed.

What though the earlier grooves

They, this thing, and I, that: whom shall Which ran the laughing loves

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Look not thou down, but up!

Found straightway to its mind, could To uses of a cup,

value in a trice:

But all, the world's coarse thumb

And finger failed to plumb,

The festal board, lamp's flash, and trumpet's peal,

The new wine's foaming flow,

The Master's lips aglow!

So passed in making up the main account; Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what

All instincts immature,

All purposes unsure,

needst thou with earth's wheel?

That weighed not as his work, yet swelled But I need, now as then,

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Fancies that broke through language and With shapes and colors rife,

escaped;

All I could never be,

Bound dizzily - mistake my end, to

slake Thy thirst:

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Now he patted his horse's side,
Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle-
girth;

But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry-tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he
turns,

But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A second lamp in the belfry burns!

| A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark

Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet :

That was all! And yet, through the The fate of a nation was riding that night; gloom and the light, And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,

Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

He has left the village and mounted the steep,

And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,

Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders, that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the
ledge,

Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.
It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford

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Standing, with reluctant feet,
Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood fleet!

Gazing, with a timid glance,
On the brooklet's swift advance,
On the river's broad expanse!
Deep and still, that gliding stream
Beautiful to thee must seem,
As the river of a dream.

Then why pause with indecision,
When bright angels in thy vision
Beckon thee to fields Elysian?

Seest thou shadows sailing by,
As the dove, with startled eye,
Sees the falcon's shadow fly?

Hearest thou voices on the shore,
That our ears perceive no more,
Deafened by the cataract's roar?

209

O, thou child of many prayers!
Life hath quicksands, -Life hath snares!
Care and age come unawares !

Like the swell of some sweet tune,
Morning rises into noon,
May glides onward into June.

Childhood is the bough, where slumbered
Birds and blossoms many-numbered ;-
Age, that bough with snows encumbered.

When the young heart overflows,
Gather, then, each flower that grows,
To embalm that tent of snows.

Bear a lily in thy hand;
Gates of brass cannot withstand
One touch of that magic wand.

Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,
In thy heart the dew of youth,
On thy lips the smile of truth.

O, that dew, like balm, shall steal
Into wounds that cannot heal,
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal;

And that smile, like sunshine, dart
Into many a sunless heart,
For a smile of God thou art.

A PSALM OF LIFE.

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