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His spirit's overflowing. For surging souls, no worlds can bound, Their channel in the heart have found.

O child, to change appointed,
Thou hadst not second sight!
What eyes the future view aright,

Unless by tears anointed ?
Yea, only tears themselves can show
The burning ones that have to flow.

O woman, deeply loving,
Thou hadst not second sight!
The star is very high and bright,

And none can see it moving.
Love looks around, below, above,
Yet all his prophecy is—love.

The bird thy childhood's playing
Sent onward o'er the sea,
Thy dove of hope came back to thee

Without a leaf, Art laying
Its wet cold wing no sun can dry,
Still in thy bosom secretly?


Our Goethe's friend, Bettine,
I have the second sight!
The stone upon his grave is white,

The funeral stone between ye;
And in thy mirror thou hast viewed
Some change as hardly understood,

Where's childhood? where is Goethe ?
The tears are in thine eyes.
Nay, thou shalt yet reorganise

Thy maidenhood of beauty
In his own glory, which is smooth
Of wrinkles and sublime in youth.

The poet's arms have wound thee,
He breathes upon thy brow,
He lifts thee upward in the glow

Of his great genius round thee,-
The child-like poet undefiled
Preserving evermore THE CHILD.


A sad man on a summer day
Did look upon the earth and say—
'Purple cloud, the hill-top binding,
Folded hills, the valleys wind in,
Valleys, with fresh streams among you,
Streams, with bosky trees along you,
Trees, with many birds and blossoms,
Birds, with music-trembling bosoms,
Blossoms, dropping dews that wreathe you
To your fellow flowers beneath you,
Flowers, that constellate on earth,
Earth, that shakest to the mirth

Of the merry Titan ocean,
All his shining hair in motion!
Why am I thus the only one
Who can be dark beneath the sun?'

But when the summer day was past, He looked to heaven and smiled at last, Self-answered so—.

“Because, O cloud, Pressing with thy crumpled shroud Heavily on mountain topHills, that almost seem to drop, Stricken with a misty death, To the valleys underneath, Valleys, sighing with the torrent, — Waters, streaked with branches horrent, Branchless trees, that shake your head Wildly o'er your blossoms spread Where the common flowers are found, Flowers, with foreheads to the ground, Ground, that shriekest while the sea With his iron smiteth theeI am, besides, the only one Who can be bright without the sun.'


We walked beside the sea After a day which perished silently Of its own glory-like the princess weird Who, combating the Genius, scorched and seared Uttered with burning breath, Ho! victory!' And sank adown an heap of ashes pale.

So runs the Arab tale.


The sky above us showed A universal and unmoving cloud, On which the cliffs permitted us to see Only the outline of their majesty, As master minds when gazed at by the crowd! And, shining with a gloom, the water grey

Swang in its moon-taught way.

. 111. Nor moon, nor stars were out. They did not dare to tread so soon about, Though trembling, in the footsteps of the sun, The light was neither night's nor day's, but one Which, life-like, had a beauty in its doubt. And Silence's impassioned breathings round

Seemed wandering into sound.

O solemn-beating heart
Of nature! I have knowledge that thou art

Bound unto man's by cords he cannot sever-
And, what time they are slackened by him ever,
So to attest his own supernal part,
Still runneth thy vibration fast and strong

The slackened cord along.

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For though we never spoke Of the grey water and the shaded rock, Dark wave and stone unconsciously were fused Into the plaintive speaking that we used Of absent friends and memories unforsook; And, had we seen each other's face, we had

Seen haply, each was sad.




How joyously the young sea-mew
Lay dreaming on the waters blue,
Whereon our little bark had thrown
A little shade, the only one,-
But shadows ever man pursue.

Familiar with the waves and free
As if their own white foam were he,
His heart upon the heart of ocean
Lay learning all its mystic motion,
And throbbing to the throbbing sea.

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