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SESTINA.

WANDERED o'er the vast green plains of youth,

And searched for Pleasure. On a distant height Fame's silhouette stood sharp against the skies. Beyond vast crowds that thronged a broad highway I caught the glimmer of a golden goal,

While from a blooming bower smiled siren Love.

Straight gazing in her eyes, I laughed at Love,
With all the haughty insolence of youth,
As past her bower I strode to seek my goal.
"Now will I climb to glory's dizzy height,"
I said, "for there above the common way
Doth pleasure dwell companioned by the skies.”

But when I reached that summit near the skies,
So far from man I seemed, so far from Love-
"Not here," I cried, "doth Pleasure find her way."
Seen from the distant borderland of youth,
Fame smiles upon us from her sun-kissed height,
But frowns in shadows when we reach the goal.

Then were mine eyes fixed on that glittering goal,
Dear to all sense-sunk souls beneath the skies.
Gold tempts the artist from the lofty height,
Gold lures the maiden from the arms of Love,

Gold buys the fresh ingenuous heart of youth,

"And gold," I said, "will show me Pleasure's way."

But ah! the soil and discord of that way,

Where savage hordes rushed headlong to the goal, Dead to the best impulses of their youth,

Blind to the azure beauty of the skies;

Dulled to the voice of conscience and of love,
They wandered far from Truth's eternal height.

Then Truth spoke to me from that noble height,
Saying: "Thou didst pass Pleasure on the way,
She with the yearning eyes so full of Love,
Whom thou disdained to seek for glory's goal.
Two blending paths beneath God's arching skies
Lead straight to Pleasure. Ah, blind heart of youth,
Not up fame's height, not toward the base god's
goal,

Doth Pleasure make her way, but 'neath calm skies
Where Duty walks with Love in endless youth."

THE

THE OPTIMIST.

HE fields were bleak and sodden. Not a wing
Or note enlivened the depressing wood;

A soiled and sullen, stubborn snowdrift stood
Beside the roadway. Winds came muttering
Of storms to be, and brought the chilly sting
Of icebergs in their breath. Stalled cattle mooed
Forth plaintive pleadings for the earth's green
food.

No gleam, no hint of hope in anything.

The sky was blank and ashen, like the face

Of some poor wretch who drains life's cup too fast.

Yet, swaying to and fro, as if to fling

About chilled Nature its lithe arms of grace,

Smiling with promise in the wintry blast, The optimistic Willow spoke of spring.

THE PESSIMIST.

HE pessimistic locust, last to leaf,

THE

Though all the world is glad, still talks of

grief.

B

AN INSPIRATION.

OWEVER the battle is ended,

Ho

Though proudly the victor comes
With fluttering flags and prancing nags
And echoing roll of drums,

Still truth proclaims this motto

In letters of living light,

No question is ever settled
Until it is settled right.

Though the heel of the strong oppressor
May grind the weak in the dust,

And the voices of fame with one acclaim

May call him great and just,

Let those who applaud take warning,
And keep this motto in sight,—
No question is ever settled

Until it is settled right.

Let those who have failed take courage;
Tho' the enemy seems to have won,

Tho' his ranks are strong, if he be in the wrong
The battle is not yet done;

For, sure as the morning follows

The darkest hour of the night,

No question is ever settled
Until it is settled right.

O man bowed down with labor!
O woman young, yet old!

O heart oppressed in the toiler's breast
And crushed by the power of gold!
Keep on with your weary battle

Against triumphant might;

No question is ever settled

Until it is settled right.

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