Yet do not rise: for you may look on me, shout "St. Simeon Stylites." Why, if so, God reaps a harvest in me. God reaps a harvest in thee. O my soul, If this be, Can I work miracles and not be saved? This is not told of any. They were saints. Yea, crowned a saint. They shout, "Behold a saint!" And lower voices saint me from above. now Sponged and made blank of crimeful record all O my sons, my sons, I, Simeon of the pillar, by surname The watcher on the column till the end; From my high nest of penance here proclaim Showed like fair seraphs. On the coals I lay, Made me boil over. Devils plucked my sleeve; I smote them with the cross; they swarmed again. Their faces grow between me and my book: While I spake then, a sting of shrewdest pain That holds a crown? Come, blessed brother, come. And from it melt the dews of Paradise, Sweet! sweet! spikenard, and balm, and frankin cense. Ah! let me not be fooled, sweet saints: I trust That I am whole, and clean, and meet for Heaven. Speak, if there be a priest, a man of God, But thou, oh Lord, Aid all this foolish people; let them take Example, pattern: lead them to thy light. THE SEA-FAIRIES SLOW sailed the weary mariners, and saw, Betwixt the green brink and the running foam, Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest To little harps of gold; and, while they mused, Whispering to each other half in fear, Shrill music reached them on the middle sea. Whither away, no more. whither away, whither away ? fly Whither away from the high green field, and the happy blossoming shore? Day and night to the billow the fountain calls; From wandering over the lea: Out of the live-green heart of the dells They freshen the silvery-crimson shells, And thick with white bells the clover-hill swells High over the full-toned sea: O hither, come hither, and furl your sails, Come hither to me and to me! Hither, come hither, and frolic and play; We will sing to you all the day: Mariner, mariner, furl your sails, For here are the blissful downs and dales, And the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand; And the rainbow hangs on the poising wave, O hither, come hither, and be our lords, For merry brides are we! We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words: O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten With pleasure and love and jubilee ! O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten When the sharp, clear twang of the golden chords Runs up the ridged sea! Who can light on as happy a shore All the world o'er, all the world o'er ? Whither away? listen and stay: mariner, mariner fly no more. THE DESERTED HOUSE. I. LIFE and Thought have gone away Side by side, Leaving door and windows wide : Careless tenants they! II. All within is dark as night: III. Close the door, the shutters close, Of the dark, deserted house. IV. Come away; no more of mirth V. Come away; for Life and Thought But in a city glorious A great and distant city-have bought Would they could have stayed with us. EDWIN MORRIS; OR, THE LAKE. O ME, my pleasant rambles by the lake, Of city life! I was a sketcher then; See here, my doing: curves of mountain, bridge, When men knew how to build, upon a rock, |