IV

Browning o’er, the pipes are simmering,
Dip this wand of clay[13] within;
If like glass the wand be glimmering,
Then the casting may begin. 
Brisk, brisk now, and see
If the fusion flow free;
If—­(happy and welcome indeed were the sign!)
If the hard and the ductile united combine. 
For still where the strong is betrothed to the weak,
And the stern in sweet marriage is blent with the meek,
Rings the concord harmonious, both tender and strong: 
So be it with thee, if forever united,
The heart to the heart flows in one, love-delighted;
Illusion is brief, but Repentance is long. 
Lovely, thither are they bringing,
With her virgin wreath, the Bride! 
To the love-feast clearly ringing,
Tolls the church-bell far and wide! 
With that sweetest holyday,
Must the May of Life depart;
With the cestus loosed—­away
Flies ILLUSION from the heart! 
Yet love lingers lonely,
When Passion is mute,
And the blossoms may only
Give way to the fruit. 
The Husband must enter
The hostile life;
With struggle and strife,
To plant or to watch,
To snare or to snatch,
To pray and importune,
Must wager and venture
And hunt down his fortune! 
Then flows in a current the gear and the gain,
And the garners are filled with the gold of the grain,
Now a yard to the court, now a wing to the centre! 
Within sits Another,
The thrifty Housewife;
The mild one, the mother—­
Her home is her life. 
In its circle she rules,
And the daughters she schools,
And she cautions the boys,
With a bustling command,
And a diligent hand
Employed she employs;
Gives order to store,
And the much makes the more;
Locks the chest and the wardrobe, with lavender smelling,
And the hum of the spindle goes quick through the dwelling,
And she hoards in the presses, well polished and full,
The snow of the linen, the shine of the wool;
Blends the sweet with the good, and from care and endeavor
Rests never! 
Blithe the Master (where the while
From his roof he sees them smile)
Eyes the lands, and counts the gain;
There, the beams projecting far,
And the laden store-house are,
And the granaries bowed beneath
The blessed golden grain;
There, in undulating motion,
Wave the corn-fields like an ocean. 
Proud the boast the proud lips breathe:—­
“My house is built upon a rock,
And sees unmoved the stormy shock
Of waves that fret below!”
What chain so strong, what girth so great,
To bind the giant form of Fate?—­
Swift are the steps of Woe.

V

Now the casting may begin;
See the breach indented there: 
Ere we run the fusion in,
Halt—­and speed the pious prayer! 
Pull the bung out—­
See around and about
What vapor, what vapor—­God help us!—­has risen?—­
Ha! the flame like a torrent leaps forth from its