From the pole unto the pole,
From the east unto the west,
I'll aid thee, noble soul,
To rise and do thy best!'

'And we,' said the Day and Night,
And the Law of Gravitation.
'And we,' said the Dark and Light,
And the Stars in their gyration.
'And I,' said Justice, moving
To the right hand of the Throne.
And I,' said Fate, approving,
'I make thy cause mine own."

'I knew ye would,' said he
Who lay in extremity.

Strong will, pure soul, true heart-
With these to take my part,
And God's law aiding ever
The resolute endeavour,
I'll do the best I can,
To live an honest man;
And if I die, I die,

Strong in my God on high!'

A WRETCHED MAN'S DEFIANCE TO SELF-SLAUGHTER.

I.

GET you gone! Devil, that would betray me!

And allow me to forget.

You'd over-persuade and try to slay me,

But I've strength to resist you yet!

Get out of me! Far from me! down to the depths
Where your spirit was born and bred;

I feel and I know that you cozen me well,
But I keep both heart and head.

II.

Ah yes! your rope is cleverly tied,
Not a drop of blood would be spilt!

And your dagger would be sharp and sure
If I drove it to the hilt!

Your poisons are very good poisons, no doubt,

But I'm not in a hurry to drink;—

And the river runs cold;-and I'm not very old ;—

And I'll live for awhile, I think!

III.

'Tis true I am wretched; and Death would be rest;

Though I'm not altogether sure.—

I've sinn'd and suffer'd,-maybe for the best ;

'Tis my duty to endure.

A jump in the river would ease my pain!

Perhaps! But I do not know.

Though your cowardly counsels I disdain,
False friend! and treacherous foe!

IV.

And yet I'm weary, and very weary,
And would like to lie me down,

Out of the sorrow-with no to-morrow-
In the dull Earth's bosom brown!
Let the world roll-as it listeth to roll-

For man, for tree, for grass!

And I'll live till Death says the word to my soul-
'Pass to the Infinite-pass,'

THE LORD OF CASTLE CRAZY. I very well know the reason

Smith was smoking, I was thinking,
Howard was idling by.
He took a stone and toss'd it
Carelessly into the sea;

And then another, again another,
And sometimes two or three.

II.

'What are you doing, Howard?'
'I'm losing my money again,—
This little pebble's a thousand

I dropp'd in that scheme in Spain.
This is a larger venture;-

That in the Fisheries sank,

And this is more than I like to tell-
Swallow'd in Dodge's Bank.

III.

'This is a newspaper, vanish'd,
With thrice a thousand at least;
And this is a project, fair to study,
For making champagne from yeast.
This is a stone-pray, watch it;
Ten thousand fully told,
For converting old shoes to sugar,
And turning flint to gold!'

IV.

And still he kept throwing, throwing
The stones into the sea.
'Howard! your losses grieve you!'
"The devil a bit,' quoth he;
'But if I don't grow wiser
Next time that cash runs riot,
I'll either drown or hang myself
To keep my guineas quiet.'

WHAT SMELDUNGUS SAID TO
HIS YOUNG FRIEND.

I.

WHEN I wander up and down
Through the highways of the town,
I can study men and manners as I go,
young man !

I can watch the follies run

Idly flaring in the sun,

When I see the lordly tower,
Or the pleasant woodland bower,
Of some fat contracting jobber on the
hill, young man!

Or the mansion in the square,.
Full of tomes and pictures rare,
Of the quack who's made his fortune by
a pill, young man !

Or the cozy snug retreats
Of the little lying cheats,

Who poison all they bake and all they
brew, young man !

I can go to bed and say,
In my attic when I pray,

'I would rather rent a wigwam and be
true, young man !'

When I see a man who thrives
At the risk of others' lives,

Out of stolen goods, short measure, and
short weight, young man!
Who gives suppers, dinners, balls,
And when shivering hunger calls,
Sends it groaning to the far-off work-
house gate, young man!

I can look clear-eyed to Heaven,
Saying, 'Be my sins forgiven;"
Let my soul be free of pride, whate'er I
do, young man!

But in utter scorn I'll hold

All such creatures and their gold, For I'd rather be a pauper and be true, young man !

STRAWBERRIES.

WE owe thee much, resplendent June,
For fresh delights of morn or noon,
For lingering eves with sunsets bright,
For deep serenities of night,

For foliage rich, and pomp of flowers,
For music of the skies and bowers,

And the vices and the falsehoods where For sweet fruition, early found,

they grow, young man !

If I see an arrant knave
In his chariot, looking brave,
Spattering mud upon his betters-you
and me, young man !
I can pass him quite resign'd,

And all the promise of the ground.

But, lovely June, although we prize
The charms thou spreadest to our eyes;
Though we admire thee, young and fair,
With jocund cheeks and flowing hair;

When Mermaids frolick'd in the sea, And Puck made sport with maids in dairies;

When Oberon was Monarch still,

Andelves were elves, and fairies fairies.

VI.

But now the brats are getting dull,

Demand some actual proof to show
Of elves and fairies the existence.

VII.

Such child shall ne'er be pet of mine,
Nor from my pocket coax the shilling,
Nor top, nor doll shall it extort

From my exchequer most unwilling.
Give me a little child with faith,

With purity and sweet reliance,
And I'll applaud its ignorance

Of all the 'ologies' of science.

VIII.

Let Reason guide us in our teens,
And never fail to light us after;
But, oh let children keep their faith,
Their tears, their wonder, and their
laughter.

They yield no more a faith implicit ; So shall their hearts be duly train’d
In opening life's appropriate season;
Presume to start their doubts illicit-Nor Fancy, Sympathy, and Love

And sages in their pinafores,

Presume to reason with their sires;

Be stunted with the husks of Rea

And with unbaby-like persistence,

son.

THE PASSING CROWD.

I.

STANDING alone at the window, I watch the crowd of people,
And study as they pass me the warp and woof of life;
Woven with good and evil, with sorrow and rejoicing,
With peace and true affection, with agony and strife.

II.

I think as the old men saunter, of the pangs they must have suffer'd,
In the hard up-mountain struggle, to the bare and frosty cope:
Of their patience and endurance, and the victory snatch'd from Fortune,
Out of the pangs of Death, or at best forlornest Hope.

III.

I think, neither sad nor happy, but fill'd with a vague surmising,
That the young men strutting so proudly must run the self-same race;
No pity for the hindmost, and much applause for the foremost ;
Applause and pity both idle, to the heart not right in its place.

IV.

I think as Lazarus passes, that perhaps he has had his chances,
And knew not how to use them, to make himself rich and great,
And lift himself up to the summit, too dizzy, perchance, to be envied,
But proud enough to scorn all men of meaner estate.