Space is ample, east and west,
But two cannot go abreast,
Cannot travel in it two: 
Yonder masterful cuckoo
Crowds every egg out of the nest,
Quick or dead, except its own;
A spell is laid on sod and stone,
Night and day were tampered with,
Every quality and pith
Surcharged and sultry with a power
That works its will on age and hour.

WORSHIP.

This is he, who, felled by foes,
Sprung harmless up, refreshed by blows: 
He to captivity was sold,
But him no prison-bars would hold: 
Though they sealed him in a rock,
Mountain chains he can unlock: 
Thrown to lions for their meat,
The crouching lion kissed his feet: 
Bound to the stake, no flames appalled,
But arched o’er him an honouring vault. 
This is he men miscall Fate,
Threading dark ways, arriving late,
But ever coming in time to crown
The truth, and hurl wrong-doers down. 
He is the oldest, and best known,
More near than aught thou call’st thy own,
Yet, greeted in another’s eyes,
Disconcerts with glad surprise. 
This is Jove, who, deaf to prayers,
Floods with blessings unawares. 
Draw, if thou canst, the mystic line
Severing rightly his from thine,
Which is human, which divine.

QUATRAINS.

S. H.

With beams December planets dart
His cold eye truth and conduct scanned,
July was in his sunny heart,
October in his liberal hand.

A. H.

High was her heart, and yet was well inclined,
Her manners made of bounty well refined;
Far capitals, and marble courts, her eye still seemed to see,
Minstrels, and kings, and high-born dames, and of the best that be.

“SUUM CUIQUE.”

Wilt thou seal up the avenues of ill? 
Pay every debt, as if God wrote the bill.

HUSH!

Every thought is public,
Every nook is wide;
Thy gossips spread each whisper,
And the gods from side to side.

ORATOR.

He who has no hands
Perforce must use his tongue;
Foxes are so cunning
Because they are not strong.

ARTIST.

Quit the hut, frequent the palace,
Reck not what the people say;
For still, where’er the trees grow biggest,
Huntsmen find the easiest way.

POET.

Ever the Poet from the land
Steers his bark, and trims his sail;
Right out to sea his courses stand,
New worlds to find in pinnace frail.

POET.

To clothe the fiery thought
In simple words succeeds,
For still the craft of genius is
To mask a king in weeds.