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 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 But haply with wan fingers may she feel LIFE. Anna Letitia Barbauld. LIFE! I know not what thou art, And when, or how, or where we met, 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; Say not Good night,- but in some brighter clime Bid me Good morning. SONG OF CALCHAS. From THE CONTENTION OF AJAX AND ULYSSES. James Shirley. 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: Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; See, where the victor-victim bleeds: To the cold tomb, Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. IN AN AGE OF FOPS AND TOYS. Ralph Waldo Emerson. In an age of fops and toys, To hazard all in Freedom's fight, Break sharply off their jolly games, And quit proud homes and youthful dames For famine, toil and fray? Yet on the nimble air benign Speed nimbler messages, That waft the breath of grace divine To hearts in sloth and ease. So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man, When Duty whispers low, Thou must, The youth replies, I can. THE UNDERTAKING. John Donne. I HAVE done one braver thing And yet a braver thence doth spring, Which is, to keep that hid. It were but madness now t' impart The skill of specular stone, When he, which can have learn'd the art To cut it, can find none. So, if I now should utter this, Others (because no more Such stuff to work upon there is) Would love but as before: |