MICHELANGELESQUE.

Shaping thy life what if the stubborn stuff
Grudge to inform itself through each dull part

With the soul's high invention, and thy art

Seem a defeated thing, and earth rebuff

Heaven's splendour, choosing darkness,-leave the

rough

Brute-parts unhewn. Toilest thou for the mart

Or for the temple? Does the God see start

Quick beauty from the block, it is enough.
The spirit, foiled elsewhere, presses to the mouth,
Disparts the lips, lives on the lighted brow,
Fills the wide nostrils, flings the imperious chin
Out proudly. Now behold! the lyric youth,

The wrestler stooping in the act to win,
Pythian Apollo with the vengeful bow.

LIFE'S GAIN.

"Now having gained Life's gain, how hold it fast? The harder task! because the world is still

The world, and days creep slow, and wear the will,
And Custom, gendering in the heart's blind waste,
Brings forth a winged mist, which with no haste
Upcircling the steep air, and charged with ill,
Blots all our shining heights adorable,

And leaves slain Faith, slain Hope, slain Love the last."

O shallow lore of life! He who hath won

Life's gain doth hold nought fast, who could hold

all,

Holden himself of strong, immortal Powers.
The stars accept him; for his sake the Sun
Has sworn in heaven an oath memorial;
Around his feet stoop the obsequious Hours.

COMPENSATION.

You shake your head and talk of evil days:
My friend, I learn'd ere I had told twelve years
That truth of yours,-how irrepressible tears
Surprise us, and strength fails, and pride betrays,
And sorrows lurk for us in all the ways

Of joyous living. But now to front my fears

I set a counter-truth which comes and cheers
Our after-life, when, temperate, the heart weighs
Evil with good. Do never smiles surprise
Sad lips? Did the glad violets blow last spring
In no new haunts? Or are the heavens not fair
After drench'd days of June, when all the air
Grows fragrant, and the rival thrushes sing,

Until stars gather into twilight skies?

N

TO A CHILD DEAD AS SOON AS BORN.

A little wrath was on thy forehead, Boy,

Being thus defeated; the resolved will

Which death could not subdue, was threatening

still

From lip and brow. I know that it was joy

No casual misadventure might destroy.

To have lived, and fought and died. Therefore I kill

The pang for thee, unknown; nor count it ill
That thou hast entered swiftly on employ

Where Life would plant a warder keen and pure.

I thought to see a little piteous clay

The grave had need of, pale from light obscure
Of embryo dreams; thy face was as the day
Smit on by storm. Palms for my child, and bay!
Thus far thou hast done well, true son endure.

February 1871.

BROTHER DEATH.

When thou would'st have me go with thee, O

Death,

Over the utmost verge, to the dim place,

Practise upon me with no amorous grace

Of fawning lips, and words of delicate breath,
And curious music thy lute uttereth ;

Nor think for me there must be sought-out ways

Of cloud and terror; have we many days
Sojourned together, and is this thy faith?

Nay, be there plainness 'twixt us; come to me
Even as thou art, O brother of my soul;
Hold thy hand out and I will place mine there;
I trust thy mouth's inscrutable irony,

And dare to lay my forehead where the whole

Shadow lies deep of thy purpureal hair.