IV.

Pray, pray, thou who also weepest, And the drops will slacken so. Weep, weep, and the watch thou keepest With a quicker count will go. Think: the shadow on the dial For the nature most undone, Marks the passing of the trial, Proves the presence of the sun. Look, look up, in starry passion, To the throne above the spheres: Learn: the spirit's gravitation Still must differ from the tear's. Hope: with all the strength thou usest In embracing thy despair. Love: the earthly love thou losest Shall return to thee more fair. Work: make clear the forest-tangles Of the wildest stranger-land Trust: the blessed deathly angels Whisper, "Sabbath hours at hand!" By the heart's wound when most gory, By the longest agony, Smile! Behold in sudden glory The TRANSFIGURED smiles on _thee_! And ye lifted up your head, and it seemed as if He said, "My Beloved, is it so? Have ye tasted of my woe? Of my Heaven ye shall not fail!" He stands brightly where the shade is, With the keys of Death and Hades, And there, ends the mournful tale-- So hopefully ye think upon the Dead!

_NIGHT AND THE MERRY MAN._

NIGHT.

'Neath my moon what doest thou, With a somewhat paler brow Than she giveth to the ocean? He, without a pulse or motion, Muttering low before her stands, Lifting his invoking hands Like a seer before a sprite, To catch her oracles of light: But thy soul out-trembles now Many pulses on thy brow. Where be all thy laughters clear, Others laughed alone to hear? Where thy quaint jests, said for fame? Where thy dances, mixed with game? Where thy festive companies, Mooned o'er with ladies' eyes All more bright for thee, I trow? 'Neath my moon what doest thou?

THE MERRY MAN.

I am digging my warm heart Till I find its coldest part; I am digging wide and low, Further than a spade will go, Till that, when the pit is deep And large enough, I there may heap All my present pain and past Joy, dead things that look aghast By the daylight: now 't is done. Throw them in, by one and one! I must laugh, at rising sun.

* * * * *

Memories--of fancy's golden Treasures which my hands have holden, Till the chillness made them ache; Of childhood's hopes that used to wake If birds were in a singing strain, And for less cause, sleep again; Of the moss-seat in the wood Where I trysted solitude; Of the hill-top where the wind Used to follow me behind, Then in sudden rush to blind Both my glad eyes with my hair, Taken gladly in the snare; Of the climbing up the rocks, Of the playing 'neath the oaks Which retain beneath them now Only shadow of the bough; Of the lying on the grass While the clouds did overpass, Only they, so lightly driven, Seeming betwixt me and Heaven; Of the little prayers serene, Murmuring of earth and sin; Of large-leaved philosophy Leaning from my childish knee; Of poetic book sublime, Soul-kissed for the first dear time, Greek or English, ere I knew Life was not a poem too:-- Throw them in, by one and one! I must laugh, at rising sun.

* * * * *

--Of the glorious ambitions Yet unquenched by their fruitions Of the reading out the nights; Of the straining at mad heights; Of achievements, less descried By a dear few than magnified; Of praises from the many earned When praise from love was undiscerned; Of the sweet reflecting gladness Softened by itself to sadness:-- Throw them in, by one and one! I must laugh, at rising sun.

* * * * *

What are these? more, more than these! Throw in dearer memories!-- Of voices whereof but to speak Makes mine own all sunk and weak; Of smiles the thought of which is sweeping All my soul to floods of weeping; Of looks whose absence fain would weigh My looks to the ground for aye; Of clasping hands--ah me, I wring Mine, and in a tremble fling Downward, downward all this paining!

## Partings with the sting remaining,

Meetings with a deeper throe Since the joy is ruined so, Changes with a fiery burning, (Shadows upon all the turning,) Thoughts of ... with a storm they came, _Them_ I have not breath to name: Downward, downward be they cast In the pit! and now at last My work beneath the moon is done, And I shall laugh, at rising sun.

* * * * *

But let me pause or ere I cover All my treasures darkly over: I will speak not in thine ears, Only tell my beaded tears Silently, most silently. When the last is calmly told, Let that same moist rosary With the rest sepulchred be, Finished now! The darksome mould Sealeth up the darksome pit. I will lay no stone on it, Grasses I will sow instead, Fit for Queen Titania's tread; Flowers, encoloured with the sun, And ~ai ai~ written upon none; Thus, whenever saileth by The Lady World of dainty eye, Not a grief shall here remain, Silken shoon to damp or stain: And while she lisps, "I have not seen Any place more smooth and clean" ... Here she cometh!--Ha, ha!--who Laughs as loud as I can do?

_EARTH AND HER PRAISERS._