Ascending pure, the bell-like fame

Of this or that down-trodden name
Delicate spirits, push'd away

In the hot press of the noon-day.
And o'er the plain, where the dead age
Did its now silent warfare wage-

O'er that wide plain, now wrapt in gloom,
Where many a splendor finds its tomb,
Many spent fames and fallen nights —
The one or two immortal lights
Rise slowly up into the sky
To shine there everlastingly,

Like stars over the bounding hill.

The epoch ends, the world is still.

MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS.

Edward Dyer.

My minde to me a kingdome is;
Such perfect joy therein I finde
As farre exceeds all earthly blisse,
That God or Nature hath assignde:
Though much I want, that most would have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

Content I live, this is my stay;

I seek no more than may suffice:
I presse to beare no haughtie sway;
Look what I lack my mind supplies.

Loe! thus I triumph like a king,

Content with that my mind doth bring.

I see how plentie surfets oft,

And hastie clymbers soonest fall:

I see that such as sit aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all: These get with toile, and keep with feare: Such cares my mind could never beare.

No princely pompe, nor welthie store,
No force to winne the victorie,

No wylie wit to salve a sore,

No shape to winne a lover's eye; To none of these I yeeld as thrall,

For why, my mind despiseth all.

Some have too much, yet still they crave,
I little have, yet seek no more :
They are but poore, tho' much they have;
And I am rich with little store:

They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lacke, I lend; they pine, I live.

I laugh not at another's losse,

I grudge not at another's gaine;
No worldly wave my mind can tosse,
I brooke that is another's bane.
I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend;
I lothe not life, nor dread mine end.

I joy not in no earthly blisse;

I weigh not Croesus' welth a straw;

For care, I care not what it is;

I feare not fortune's fatall law: My mind is such as may not move For beautie bright or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will;

I wander not to seeke for more; I like the plaine, I clime no hill;

In greatest stormes I sitte on shore, And laugh at them that toile in vaine To get what must be lost againe.

I kisse not where I wish to kill;

I feigne not love where most I hate;
I breake no sleep to winne my will;

I wayte not at the mightie's gate;
I scorne no poore, I feare no rich;
I feele no want, nor have too much.

The court, ne cart, I like, ne loath;

Extreames are counted worst of all: The golden meane betwixt them both, Doth surest sit, and fears no fall: This is my choyce, for why, I finde No wealth is like a quiet minde.

My welth is health, and perfect ease;
My conscience clere my chiefe defence:

I never seeke by brybes to please,
Nor by desert to give offence:
Thus do I live, thus will I die;
Would all did so as well as I!

CHICAGO. OCTOBER 10, 1871.

Bret Harte.

BLACKENED and bleeding, helpless, panting, prone, On the charred fragments of her shattered throne Lies she who stood but yesterday alone.

Queen of the West! by some enchanter taught
To lift the glory of Aladdin's court,

Then lose the spell that all that wonder wrought.

Like her own prairies by some chance seed sown, Like her own prairies in one brief day grown, Like her own prairies in one fierce night mown.

She lifts her voice, and in her pleading call
We hear the cry of Macedon to Paul,
The cry for help that makes her kin to all.

But haply with wan fingers may she feel
The silver cup hid in the proffered meal,
The gifts her kinship and our love reveal.

Life! we've been long together

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;

'Tis hard to part when friends are dear;

Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;

Then steal away, give little warning,

Choose thine own time;

THE glories of our blood and state

Are shadows, not substantial things;

There is no armor against fate;

Death lays his icy hands on kings: