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We have no wings,—we cannot soar,—
But we have feet to scale and climb
By slow degrees,—by more and more,—
The cloudy summits of our time.

The mighty pyramids of stone

That wedge-like cleave the desert airs,
When nearer seen, and better known,
Are but gigantic flights of stairs.

The distant mountains, that uprear
Their frowning foreheads to the skies,
Are crossed by pathways, that appear
As we to higher levels rise.

The heights by great men reached and kept,
Were not attained by sudden flight,
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upwards in the night.

Standing on what too long we bore
With shoulders bent and downcast eyes,
We may discern, unseen before,
A path to higher destinies.

Nor deem the irrevocable Past
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,

If rising on its wrecks, at last,
To something nobler we attain.

H. W. Longfellow.

CLIV.

TO A CHILD IN SICKNESS.

LEEP breathes at last from out thee,

My little patient boy;

And balmy rest about thee

Smoothes off the day's annoy.

I sit me down and think

Of all thy winning ways;

Yet almost wish, with sudden shrink,
That I had less to praise.

Thy sidelong pillowed meekness,
Thy thanks to all that aid,
Thy heart in pain and weakness,
Of fancied faults afraid;
The little trembling hand

That wipes thy quiet tears,

These, these are things that may demand Dread memories for years.

Sorrows I've had, severe ones,
I will not think of now;
And calmly 'midst my dear ones,
Have wasted with dry brow;
But when thy fingers press
And pat my stooping head,
I cannot bear the gentleness,-
The tears are in their bed.

Ah, first-born of thy mother,
When life and hope were new;

Kind playmate of thy brother,
Thy sister, father, too;
My light where'er I go,

My bird when prison-bound,
My hand-in-hand companion—no,
My prayers shall hold thee round.

To say 'he has departed'—

'His voice-his face-'tis gone!'

To feel impatient-hearted,

Yet feel we must bear on !

Ah, I could not endure

To whisper of such woe,
Unless I felt this sleep ensure
That it will not be so.

Yes, still he's fixed and sleeping!
This silence, too, the while—
Its very hush and creeping

Seems whispering as a smile.
Something divine and dim
Seems going by mine ear,

Like parting wings of Seraphim,

Who say, 'We've finished here.'

Leigh Hunt,

CLV.

ADAM AND EVE'S MORNING HYMN.

(FROM 'PARADISE LOST.' BOOK V.)

HESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty! Thine this universal frame,

Thus wondrous fair: Thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable, who sit'st above these heavens
To us invisible, or dimly seen

In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing: ye, in Heaven;
On Earth, join, all ye Creatures, to extol

Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
Fairest of Stars, last in the train of night,

If better thou belong not to the dawn,

Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.

Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall'st.
Moon, that now meet'st the orient Sun, now fly'st,
With the fixed Stars, fixed in their orb that flies;
And ye five other wandering Fires,* that move
In mystic dance not without song, resound
His praise, who out of darkness called up light.
Air, and ye Elements, the eldest birth

Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run +
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix

And nourish all things, let your ceaseless change
Vary to our Great Maker still new praise.
Ye Mists and Exhalations, that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the Sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's Great Author rise;
Whether to deck with clouds the uncoloured sky,
Or wet the thirsty Earth with falling showers,
Rising or falling still advance his praise.

His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye Pines,
With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.
Join voices, all ye living Souls: ye Birds,
That singing up to Heaven-gate ascend,

Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep;
Witness if I be silent, morn or even,

* Ancient and medieval astronomy reckoned the sun and moon among the planets. The 'five other wandering fires' are Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn.

+ 'The mingling and interchange of the four elements, air, earth, fire, and water, producing successive alterations in the condition and constitution of the universe, was a doctrine of ancient philosophy.'

To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade,

Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.
Hail, Universal Lord, be bounteous still
To give us only good; and if the night
Have gathered aught of evil or concealed,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark!

J. Milton.

Adam.

CLVI.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

ACT II. SCENE VI.-The Forest.

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM.

EAR master, I can go no further: O, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently; and if I bring thee not something to eat I will give thee leave to die but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou lookest cheerly, and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the bleak air: come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! [Exeunt.

SCENE VII.-The Forest.

A Table set out. Enter DUKE senior, AMIENS, and Lords like Outlaws.
Duke S. I think he be transformed into a beast;
For I can no where find him like a man.

* Be comfortable, that is, take confort.

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