e, at God's altar fervently kneel;
Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish--
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.

Joy of the desolate, Light of the straying,
Hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure,
Here speaks the Comforter, in God's name saying,--
"Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure."

Go, ask the infidel, what boon he brings us,
What charm for aching hearts _he_ can reveal,
Sweet as that heavenly promise Hope sings us,
"Earth has no sorrow that God cannot heal."

XXXIX. ON A LOCK OF MILTON'S HAIR.

LEIGH HUNT.--1784-1859.

It lies before me there, and my own breath
Stirs its thin outer threads, as though beside
The living head I stood in honor'd pride,
Talking of lovely things that conquer death.
Perhaps he press'd it once, or underneath
Ran his fine fingers, when he leant, blank-ey'd,
And saw, in fancy, Adam and his bride
With their rich locks, or his own Delphic wreath.
There seems a love in hair, though it be dead.
It is the gentlest, yet the strongest thread
Of our frail plant,--a blossom from the tree
Surviving the proud trunk;--as though it said
Patience and gentleness is power; in me
Behold affectionate eternity.

XL. THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS.

LEIGH HUNT.

King Francis was a hearty king, and lov'd a royal sport,
And one day, as his lions strove, sat looking on the court:
The nobles fill'd the benches round, the ladies by their side,
And 'mongst them Count de Lorge, with one he hoped to make
his bride;
And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show,
Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below.

Ramp'd and roar'd the lions, with horrid laughing jaws;
They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with
their paws;
With wallowing might and stifled roar they roll'd one on another,
Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thund'rous smother;
The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through the air;
Said Francis then, "Good gentlemen, we're better here than there!"

De Lorge's love o'erheard the King, a beauteous, lively dame,
With smiling lips, and sharp bright eyes, which always seem'd
the same:
She thought, "The Count, my lover, is as brave as brave can be;
He surely would do desperate