Shall earth and the cramped moment-space
Yield the heavenly crowning grace?

Now the parts and then the whole !
Who art thou, with stinted soul
And stunted body, thus to cry

shall that be life's strait dole?

I must live beloved or die !'

This peasant hand that spins the wool
And bakes the bread, why lives it on,
Poor and coarse with beauty gone,
What use survives the beauty? Fool!

Go, little girl with the poor coarse hand!
I have my lesson, shall understand.

IX. ON DECK.

I.

THERE is nothing to remember in me,
Nothing I ever said with a grace,
Nothing I did that you care to see,
Nothing I was that deserves a place
In your mind, now I leave you, set you free.

2.

Conceded! In turn, concede to me,

Such things have been as a mutual flame.
Your soul's locked fast; but, love for a key,
You might let it loose, till I grew the same
In your eyes, as in mine you stand: strange plea!

3.

For then, then, what would it matter to me

That I was the harsh, ill-favored one?

St. 1. Nothing I did that you care to see refers to her art-work.

80

How strange it were if you had all me,
As I have all you in my heart and brain,
You, whose least word brought gloom or glee,
Who never lifted the hand in vain
Will hold mine yet, from over the sea!

5.

Strange, if a face, when you thought of me,
Rose like your own face present now,

With eyes as dear in their due degree,

Much such a mouth, and as bright a brow,
Till you saw yourself, while you cried ""Tis She!"

6.

Well, you may, you must, set down to me
Love that was life, life that was love;
A tenure of breath at your lips' decree,

A passion to stand as your thoughts approve,
A rapture to fall where your foot might be.

7.

But did one touch of such love for me
Come in a word or a look of yours,
Whose words and looks will, circling, flee

Round me and round while life endures,
Could I fancy "As I feel, thus feels He;'

St. 3. Here it is indicated that she had not the personal charms which were needed to maintain her husband's interest. A pretty face was more to him than a deep loving soul.

St. 6. vv. 3-5 express the entire devotion and submissiveness of her love.

8.

Why, fade you might to a thing like me,

And your hair grow these coarse hanks of hair, Your skin, this bark of a gnarled tree,

You might turn myself! should I know or care, When I should be dead of joy, James Lee?

A TALÉ.

EPILOGUE TO THE TWO POETS OF CROISIC."

I.

WHAT a pretty tale you told me

Once upon a time

- Said you found it somewhere (scold me !)
Was it prose or was it rhyme,

Greek or Latin? Greek, you said,

While your shoulder propped my head.

2.

Anyhow there's no forgetting
This much if no more,

That a poet (pray, no petting!)

Yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore, Went where suchlike used to go, Singing for a prize, you know.

3.

Well, he had to sing, nor merely
Sing but play the lyre;
Playing was important clearly

Quite as singing: I desire,
Sir, you keep the fact in mind,
For a purpose that's behind.

4.

There stood he, while deep attention
Held the judges round,

-Judges able, I should mention,
To detect the slightest sound
Sung or played amiss: such ears
Had old judges, it appears!

5.

None the less he sang out boldly,
Played in time and tune,

Till the judges, weighing coldly.

Each note's worth, seemed, late or soon,

Sure to smile "In vain one tries

Picking faults out: take the prize!"

St. 7.

With its little heart on fire,

Lighted on the crippled lyre.

Cicada," do you say? Pooh! that's bringing the mysterious little thing down to the plane of entomology.

8.

So that when (Ah joy !) our singer
For his truant string

Feels with disconcerted finger,

What does cricket else but fling Fiery heart forth, sound the note

Wanted by the throbbing throat?

9.

Ay and, ever to the ending,
Cricket chirps at need,
Executes the hand's intending,
Promptly, perfectly, — indeed
Saves the singer from defeat
With her chirrup low and sweet.

IO.

Till, at ending, all the judges
Cry with one assent

"Take the prize-a prize who grudges
Such a voice and instrument?

Why, we took your lyre for harp,
So it shrilled us forth F sharp!"

II.

Did the conqueror spurn the creature,
Once its service done?

That's no such uncommon feature

In the case when Music's son Finds his Lotte's power too spent For aiding soul-development.

St. 11. when Music's son, etc.: a fling at Goethe.