350 LAKE, WITH LAWNY BANKS THAT SLOPE. Earth may smile like Eden round, Gives not back their hue. "Stream, that feed'st the lake, there beams On thee a living sun Rapid, dark, thou rushest by; Wouldst thou doom outrun ? "" Hoarsely thus the hurrying wave "Suns may beam, or skies may lower, "I am fed by those that draw And I am not free. "Peaceful mission is not mine; Burst from this strange earth, as if Born with inward strife." "Turbid lake, thou must flow on, There is no redress, And the river fed by thee Know unworthiness." Ignorant, I grieved to see Nothing could be pure, All must be as all had been, Princely, calm, and clear, Flowed from out the troubled lake, Heaven and earth were showed therein, The dark source defiled To the ocean's large embrace Sent a noble child. DEEP, DEEP WITHIN THE OCEAN'S BREAST. DEEP, deep within the ocean's breast Round which light, water-swayèd nymphs The centre of this little isle Was fixed a stony tree; In rigid pride the coral stone And said, with gratulating tone, "But now no chance or change can come To me; mature in form, I take my place with things of fate; I cool no more nor warm. "Yes, I have been the sport of waves, I toiled and felt, nor knew the rest, "Come, all of ye Sea-Nymphs, admire לי ! Out gushed the voice of one Sea-Nymph,"Give me the form which grows. "I better please myself to watch "So, I'll just feast my eyes awhile How in the ocean's deepest depth Is human life repeated! By coral beds, who 've done with change, EYES not down-dropped nor over-bright, but fed Of her still spirit, locks not wide dispread, Sweet lips, whereon perpetually did reign Reverèd Isabel, the crown and head, a prudence to withhold, Of subtle-paced counsel in distress, Right to the heart and brain, though undescried, A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway, With swifter movement and in purer light The vexed eddies of its wayward brother, A leaning and upbearing parasite, Clothing the stem, which else had fallen quite, With clustered flower-bells and ambrosial orbs Of rich fruit-bunches leaning on each other, Shadow forth thee: the world hath not another (Though all her fairest forms are types of thee, And thou of God in thy great charity) Of such a finished, chastened purity. SUNDAY. Herbert. O DAY most calm, most bright! The other days and thou Make up one man; whose face thou art, Man had straight forward gone Sundays the pillars are On which heaven's palace archèd lies: |