r. So do men
Worship me. Oh! the mighty crash ascends,--
The shoutings, and the glory, and the woe,
One great full chaunt of homage to mine ears,--
And there I wait the while the sacrifice
Is slain before me; then down with a swoop
I get me from my skyey throne, and dye
Deep in the ruddy stream my talons grey--
Hurrah! hurrah! blood red's the flag for me!"

The time will come, proud one, when thou shalt die!
"Die! Death I cast from me as these loose plumes
That moult out from my pinions--let them go
To Earth, and Death go with them, both I leave
To mortals. What have I to do with Time?
Let him pat forth his speed--these wings of mine
Shall match him stroke for stroke, until we reach
The limits of his empire, and I shake him off
Like dust upon the threshold of the world."

WHITHER?

Whither away, youth, whither away,
With lightsome step, and with joyous heart,
And eyes that Hope's gay glances dart?
Whither away--whither away?

Into the world, the glorious world,
To gain the prize, of the brave and bold,
To snatch the crown from the age of gold--
Into the world--into the world!

Whither away, girl, whither away?
Thy soft blue eyes are suffused with love,
And thy smile is as bright as the sunshine above,--
Whither away, whither away?

Into the world, the beautiful world,
To meet the heart that must mate with mine,
And make the measure of life divine,--
Into the world, into the world.

Whither away, old man, whither away,
With locks of white, and form bent low,
And trembling hands, and steps so slow?
Whither away,--whither away?

Out of the world, Oh! the weary world,
With its empty pleasures, and poison'd joys,
Whose draught first gladdens, and then destroys--
Out of the world, out of the world,
With shatter'd hopes, and with feeble frame,
From Life's sharp struggle, and unsped aim,--
Out of the world, Oh! the weary world.

Whither away, poor one, whither away?
Hurrying swiftly, with weeping eyes,
And hectic cheeks, and smother'd sighs,
Whither away--whither away?

Out of the world, oh! the cold, cold world!
Oh! Father, my heart ... but there is rest
For the sinking soul, and the bruised breast,
Out of the world--out of the world!

THE MORNING STAR.

Night's heavy hand is lifted up at last,
And my freed heart beats evenly again,
Unpress'd by that dull heavy weight of pain
Cast backward from the unforgotten Past;
Darkness no longer