Land of the gentle and brave!
Our love is as wide as thy woe;
It deepens beside every grave
Where the heart of a hero lies low.

Land of the sunniest skies!
Our love glows the more for thy gloom;
Our hearts, by the saddest of ties,
Cling closest to thee in thy doom.

Land where the desolate weep
In a sorrow no voice may console!
Our tears are but streams, making deep
The ocean of love in our soul.

Land where the victor's flag waves,
Where only the dead are free!
Each link of the chain that enslaves

Now in the oak the sap of life is welling,
Tho' to the bough the rusty leafage clings;
Now on the elm the misty buds are swelling;
Every little pine-wood grows alive with wings;
Blue-jays are fluttering, yodeling and crying,
Meadow-larks sailing low above the faded grass,
Red-birds whistling clear, silent robins flying,--
Who has waked the birds up? What has come to pass?

Last year's cotton-plants, desolately bowing,
Tremble in the March-wind, ragged and forlorn,
Red are the hillsides of the early ploughing,

O wonderful! How liquid clear
The molten gold of that ethereal tone,
Floating and falling through the wood alone,
A hermit-hymn poured out for God to hear!

O holy, holy! holy! Hyaline,
Long light, low light, glory of eventide!
Love far away, far up,--love divine!
Little love, too, for ever, ever near,
Warm love, earth love, tender love of mine,
In the leafy dark where you hide,
You are mine,--mine,--mine!

Ah, my belovèd, do you feel with me
The hidden virtue of that melody,
The rapture and the purity of love,

Beyond the tumult and the proud acclaim,
Beyond the circle where the glory beats
With withering light upon the mighty seats,
They hear the far-resounding trump of fame;
On other lips they hear the one-loved name
In vaunting or derision, and they weep
To know that they shall never lull to sleep
Those tired heads, crowned with desolating flame.
Beyond the hot arena's baleful glow,
Beyond the towering pomp they dimly see,
They sit and watch the fateful pageants go
Through war's red arch, or up to Calvary,

An Earthworm once loved a Star. In the hush of the summer night,
He lay quite close to the ground and gazed on its golden light;
He looked from his house of clay, and dreamed of wonderful things,
Till, lo! (as he thought) his longing brought forth miraculous wings.

The Butterfly soared in the air, straight toward the beckoning spark;
His wings grew weary and chill, but the Star smiled through the dark;
His wings grew heavy and cold, the wings that he dreamed love gave,
And he folded them there in the starlight, and the dust became his
grave.

St. George, I learned to love thee in my youth
When of thy deeds I read in deathless song;
And now, when I behold the dragon Wrong
Hard by the castle-gates of Love and Truth,
I feel the world's great need of thee, forsooth,
To strike the heavy blow delayed too long.
Then turning from the mediæval throng,
Where thou wert bravest, yet the first in ruth,
I watch thy votaries by land and sea
Armed with thy sacred sign go forth to fight
Anew the battle of humanity
Beneath the flag of mercy and of right;
No holier band a holier realm e'er trod

She had suitors many, many,
The fair Lady Annabel,
But she loved him more than any,
For she knew he loved her well.
She was rich, but he was lowly,
Lowly in the world's esteem,
But that made her love more holy,
As the darkness gilds the beam;
For she knew his manly honour,
All the beauties of his mind,
And they sweetly stole upon her
Like the scent borne on the wind;
So she loved him ere she knew it,
Ere she thought to close her heart
'Gainst the tender spells that drew it
Evermore to take his part
When in idlesse or in malice

'Tis not because thou art so fair,
So beautiful unto the sight;
'Tis not because thy silken hair
Curls o'er a neck of spotless white;
'Tis not because thy speaking eye
Claims kindred with the deep blue sky,
Alone I love thee!

No! 'tis because around thee gleams
The light of innocence and truth,
Adorning with its radiant beams,
And pure reflex the charms of youth;
Because thine every word and thought
With thy soul's gentleness is fraught,
Therefore I love thee!

Men who have loved the ships they took to sea,
Loved the tall masts, the prows that creamed with foam,
Have learned, deep in their hearts, how it might be
That there is yet a dearer thing than home.
The decks they walk, the rigging in the stars,
The clean boards counted in the watch they keep,--
These, and the sunlight on the slippery spars,
Will haunt them ever, waking and asleep.

Ashore, these men are not as other men;
They walk as strangers through the crowded street,
Or, brooding by their fires, they hear again

I.

Eagle-heart, child-heart, bonnie lad o' dreams,
Far away thy soul hears passion-throated Art
Singing where the future lies
Wrapped in hues of Paradise,
Pleading with her poignant note
That forever seems to float
Farther down the vista that is calling to thy heart.
Hearken! From the heights
Where thy soul alights
Bend thine ear to listen for the lute of Love is sighing:
"Eagle-heart, child-heart,
Love is love, and art is art;
Answer while thy lips are red;