A PROBLEM.

Once, in the University of Life,
Remember and Inquire, my old Professors,
A question hard requested me to solve: 
“How can man’s love be great and be eternal
If Right forewarns he may be called to leave it: 
Whether should Love rule Duty and be all,
Or Duty turn his back on sweet Love crying?”

I paused—­then spoke, not having what to answer: 
“Ye know, Professors, how to utter problems
And man perplex with his own elements. 
Yet I believe the ways ye teach are perfect
And able are you what ye set to solve.—­
Admiring you, however, aids me nothing,
I speak because I have not what to answer.” 
“Ponder,” they said, those quiet, sage Professors,

I had seen Love—­O Vision, I was near thee
When Death refused that I should speak with thee! 
And I had seen her soft eyes’ trustful brightness
Wondrous look down into the soul of many
And lead it out and make it of eternity. 
Yes, truly, in her look men find true being!—­
What ruin if such being must be withered!

I had seen Duty—­soldier of his God—­
Of Virtue and of Order sentinel—­
Grand his firm countenance with obedience. 
His troth to Love would everlasting be
Or nothing.  What then should commanding orders
Bid him have done with her and all renounce? 
How can he look on Love and know this shadow?

“I see no answer,” answered I dejected,
“Except that either Love must be abased,
Or he resign perfection in his calling.”

“Nay,” said they, but by strange, clear apparatus
(Whereof within that College there is much)
Gave illustration—­paraphrased as follows: 
“Thou hast not reckoned for eternity. 
The True fears not Forever:  fear thou not. 
Duty and Love are noble man and wife
(If otherwise thou see them ’tis illusion),
’Tis she sends Duty forth with dear embrace
And proudest of his battle through her tears
Encourages:  ‘Regard me not but strike!’
And ’If thou must depart alas, depart! 
Follow thy noblest, I am ever true!’
He strikes and presses, sending back his heart
As forward moves his foot on the arena;
Or marches bravely far and far, until
Hope of return as mortal disappears: 
This should true soul endure, though everlasting—­
But then, besides, we know that One has mercy.”

TO A FELLOW-STUDENT OF KANT.

The sweet star of the Bethlehem night
  Beauteous guides and true,
And still, to me and you
  With only local, legendary light.

For us who hither look with eyes afar
  From constellations of philosophy,
All light is from the Cradle; the true star,
  Serene o’er distance, in the Life we see.

TO THE SOUL.

AN ODE OF EVOLUTION