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And God them taught, at every close
Of murmuring waves beyond,
Their choral voices fond,
Fit ministers! Of living loves,
Theirs hath the calmest fashion, Their living voice the likest moves
To lifeless intonation, The lovely monotone of springs And winds, and such insensate things.
My little doves were ta en away
From that glad nest of theirs, Across an ocean rolling grey,
And tempest-clouded airs. My little doves,—who lately knew The sky and wave by warmth and blue !
And now, within the city prison,
In mist and chillness pent,
For sounds of past content-
The stir without the glow of passion,
The triumph of the mart,
Man's cold metallic heart,
Yet still, as on my human hand
Their fearless heads they lean, And almost seem to understand
What human musings mean, (Their eyes, with such a plaintive shine, Are fastened upwardly to mine!)
Soft falls their chant as on the nest
Beneath the sunny zone;
Has not aweary grown,
And love that keeps the music, fills
With pastoral memories.
All droppings from the skies,
So teach ye me the wisest part,
My little doves! to move
Assured by holy love,
'Twas hard to sing by Babel's stream
More hard, in Babel's street!
Their music not unmeet
To me, fair memories belong
Of scenes that used to bless,
And lasting thankfulness,
I will have hopes that cannot fade,
For flowers the valley yields!
Of silent, dewy fields!
HECTOR IN THE GARDEN.
NINE years old! The first of any
Seem the happiest years that come.
In besieging Ilium.
Nine green years had scarcely brought me
To my childhood's haunted spring.
In betwixt the country trees,
Which he teacheth every thing.
If the rain fell, there was sorrow,
Little head leant on the pane,
The long trailing drops upon it,
Said for charm against the rain.
Such a charın was right Canidian
Though you meet it with a jeer!
Then the rain hummed dimly off,
Was left only to the ear;
And the sun and I together
Went a-rushing out of doors!
Over hill and dale in view, Glimmering hither, glimmering thither,
In the footsteps of the showers.
Through the grasses wet and fair,
With the laurel on the mound,
A side-shadow of green air.
In the garden lay supinely
A huge giant wrought of spade!
In a passive giant strength,—
Round them laid and interlaid.
Call him Hector, son of Priam!
Such his title and degree.
Both his cheeks I weeded through,
Scarce can sing his dignity.
Eyes of gentianellas azure,
Staring, winking at the skies.
Scented grasses put for locks,
Set a-waving round his eyes.
x. Brazen helm of daffodillies,
With a glitter toward the light.
Breathing perfumes west and south; And a sword of flashing lilies,
Holden ready for the fight.