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High on the shore sate the great god Pan,
While turbidly flowed the river, And hacked and hewed as a great god can, With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed
To prove it fresh from the river.
He cut it short, did the great god Pan,
(How tall it stood in the river !)
In holes, as he sate by the river.
“ This is the way,” laughed the great god Pan,
(Laughed while he sate by the river,) · The only way, since gods began To make sweet music, they could succeed." Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,
He blew in power by the river.
Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan !
Piercing sweet by the river !
Came back to dream on the river,
Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,
To laugh as he sits by the river, Making a poet out of a man :
The true gods sigh for the cost and the pain, For the reed which grows never more again As a reed with the reeds in the river.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING,
WHAT is hope? A smiling rainbow
Children follow through the wet.
Never urchin found it yet.
What is life? A thawing iceboard
On a sea with cunning shore.
We are sunk, and seen no more.
What is man? A foolish baby,
Vainly strives and fights and frets;
One small grave is what he gets.
(Translated from the French of Gustave Naudaud, by John R.
I'm growing old, I've sixty years ;
I've labored all my life in vain ;
I've failed my dearest wish to gain.
Bliss unalloyed there is for none.
I never have seen Carcassonne.
You see the city from the hill,
It lies beyond the mountains blue,
Five long and weary leagues pursue,
Ah! had the vintage plenteous grown!
I shall not look on Carcassonne.
They tell me every day is
there Not more or less than
In shining robes and gar“So CROONED, ONE DAY, CLOSE
ments fair BY LIMOUX, DOUBLE-BENT WITH AGE." The people walk upon
One gazes there on castle walls
As grand as those of Babylon,
I do not know fair Carcassonne.
The vicar's right : he says that we
Are ever wayward, weak and blind;
Ambition ruins all mankind;.
While still the autumn sweetly shone,
When I had looked on Carcassonne.
Thy pardon, Father, I beseech,
In this, my prayer, if I offend;
From childhood to his journey's end !
Have travelled even to Narbonne ;
And I have not seen Carcassonne.
So crooned, one day, close by Limoux,
A peasant, double-bent with age.
I'll go upon this pilgrimage."
But (Heaven forgive him !) half-way on
He never gazed on Carcassonne.
THE LOST LEADER.
Just for a handful of silver he left us;
Just for a ribbon to stick in his coat-
Lost all the others she lets us devote.
So much was theirs who so little allowed. How all our copper had gone for his service! Rags — were they purple, his heart had been