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IV.

No, indeed! for God above

Is great to grant, as mighty to make, And creates the love to reward the love :

I claim you still, for my own love's sake! Delayed it may be for more lives yet,

Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few: Much is to learn, much to forget

Ere the time be come for taking you.

V.

But the time will come, -at last it will,

When, Evelyn Hope, what meant (I shall say) In the lower earth, in the years long still,

That body and soul so pure and gay? Why your hair was amber, I shall divine,

And your mouth of your own geranium's redAnd what you would do with me, in fine,

In the new life come in the old one's stead.

VI.

I have lived (I shall say) so much since then,

Given up myself so many times, Gained me the gains of various men,

Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope,

Either I missed or itself missed me: And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope !

What is the issue ? let us see !

VII.

I loved you, Evelyn, all the while.

My heart seemed full as it could hold ? There was place and to spare for the frank young smile,

And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. So, hush, I will give you this leaf to keep:

See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand ! There, that is our secret: go to sleep !

You will wake, and remember, and understand.

UNCLASSIFIED POETRY.

“ The Great Renunciation."

From The Light of Asia." Then in her tears she slept, but sleeping sighed — As if that vision passed again—"The time ! The time is come ! ” Whereat Siddârtha turned, And, lo! the moon shone by the Crab! the stars In that same silver order long foretold Stood ranged to say, “ This is the night !-choose thou The way

of greatness or the way of good :
To reign a King of kings, or wander lone,
Crownless and homeless, that the world be helped.”
Moreover, with the whispers of the gloom,
Came to his ears again that warning song,
As when the Devas spoke upon the wind :
And surely Gods were round about the place
Watching our Lord, who watched the shining stars.

"I will depart,” he spake ; " the hour is come!
Thy tender lips, dear Sleeper, summon me
To that which saves the earth but sunders us;
And in the silence of yon sky I read
My fated message flashing. Unto this
Came I, and unto this all nights and days
Hlave led me; for I will not have that crown
Which

may be mine : I lay aside those realms
Which wait the gleaming of my naked sword :
My chariot shall not roll with bloody wheels
From victory to victory, till earth
Wears the red record of my name.

I choose
To tread its paths with patient, stainless feet,
Making its dust my bed, its loneliest wastes
My dwelling, and its meanest things my mates;
Clad in no prouder garb than outcasts wear,
Fed with no meats save what the charitable
Give of their will, sheltered by no more pomp
Than the dim cave iends or the jungle-bush.

This will I do because the woful

cry Of life and all flesh living cometh up Into my ears, and all my soul is full Of pity for the sickness of this world; Which I will heal, if healing may be found By uttermost renouncing and strong strife. For which of all the great and lesser gods Ilave power or pity? Who hath seen them—who? What have they wrought to help their worshippers ? llow hath it steaded man to pray,

and

pay Tithes of the corn and oil, to chant the charms, To slay the shrieking sacrifice, to rear The stately fane, to feed the priests, and call On Vishnu, Shiva, Surya, who save None—not the worthiest—from the griefs that teach Those litanies of flattery and fear Ascending day by day, like wasted smoke ? Hath any of my brothers 'scaped thereby The aches of life, the stings of love and loss, The fiery fever and the ague-shake, The slow, dull, sinking into withered age, The horrible dark death—and what beyond Waits—till the whirling wheel comes up again, And new lives bring new sorrows to be borne, New generations for the new desires Which have their end in the old mockeries ? Hath any

of
my

tender sisters found
Fruit of the fast or harvest of the hymn.
Nay; it may be some of the Gods are good
And evil some, but all in action weak;
Both pitiful and pitiless, and both-
As men are- -bound upon this wheel of change,
Knowing the former and the after lives.
For so our scriptures truly seem to teach,
That-once, and wheresoe'er, and whence begun-
Life runs its rounds of living, climbing up
From mote, and gnat, and worm, reptile, and fish,
Bird and shagged beast, man, demon, deva, God,
To clod and mote again; so are we kin
To all that is; and thus, if one might save

Man from his curse, the whole wide world should share
The lightened horror of this ignorance
Whose shadow is still fear, and cruelty
Its bitter pastime. Yea, if one might save!
And means must be! There must be refuge! Men
Perished in winter-winds till one smote fire
From flint-stones coldly hiding what they held,
The red spark treasured from the kindling sun.
They gorged on flesh like wolves, till one sowed corn,
Which grew a weed, yet makes the life of man;
They mowed and babbled till some tongue struck speech,
And patient fingers framed the lettered sound.
What good gift have my brothers, but it came
From search and strife and loving sacrifice ?
If one, then, being great and fortunate,
Rich, dowered with

health and ease, from birth designed
To rule—if he would rule—a King of kings;
If one, not tired with life's long day but glad
I'the freshness of its morning, one not cloyed
With love's delicious feasts, but hungry still ;
If one not worn and wrinkled, sadly sage,
But joyous in the glory and the grace
That mix with evils here, and free to choose
Earth's loveliest at his will: one even as I,
Who ache not, lack not, grieve not, save with griefs
Which are not mine, except as I am man ;-
If such a one, having so much to give,
Gave all, laying it down for love of men,
And thenceforth spent himself to search for truth,
Wringing the secret of deliverance forth,
Whether it lurk in hells or hide in heavens,
Or hover, unrevealed, nigh unto all :
Surely at last, far off, sometime, somewhere,
The veil would lift for his deep-searching eyes,
The road would open for his painful feet,
That should be won for which he lost the world,
And Death might find him conqueror of death.
This will I do, who have a realm to lose,
Because I love my realm, because my heart
Beats with each throb of all the hearts that ache,

Known and unknown, these that are mine and those
Which shall be mine, a thousand million more
Saved by this sacrifice I offer now.

Robert of Lincoln.

(Verse printed as Prose.) Merrily swinging on brier and weed, near to the nest of his little dame, over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name :- “ Bob-o'-link ! bob-o'-link ! spink, spank, spink! Snug and safe is that nest of ours, hidden among the summer flowers, chee, chee, chee! chink!”

Robert of Lincoln is gaily dressed, wearing a bright black wedding-coat; white are his shoulders and white his crest. Hear him call his merry note :-“Bob-o'-link ! bob-o'-link ! spink, spank, spink! Look, what a nice new coat is mine! Sure there never was a bird so fine! Chee, chee, chee! chink!”

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, passing at home a patient life, broods in the grass while her husband sings :- .6 Bob-o'-link ! bob-o'-link ! spink, spank, spink! Brood, kind creature ; you need not fear thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee, chee, chee! chink!”

Modest and shy as a nun is she, one weak chirp is her only note ; braggart and prince of braggarts is he, pouring boasts from his little throat :—"Bob-o'-link ! bob-o'-link ! spink, spank, spink! Never was I afraid of man; catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can,—chee, chee, chee! chink ! "

Six white eggson a bed of hay, freckled with purple, –a pretty sight ! there, as the Mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might :-"Bob-o'-link ! bob-o'-link ! spink, spank, spink! Nice good wife, that never goes out, keeping house while I frolic about. Chee, chee, chee! chink !”

As soon as the little ones chip the shell, six wide mouths are open for food ; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, gathering seed for the hungry brood. “ Bob-o'-link ! bob-o'-link ! spink, spank, spink ! This new life is likely to be hard for a gay young fellow like me.

Chee, chee, chee! chink!” Robert of Lincoln at length is made sober with work and silent with care ; off is his holiday garment laid, half forgotten

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