THE BRIDGE OF CLOUD. BURN, O evening hearth, and waken Pleasant visions, as of old! Though the house by winds be shaken, Safe I keep this room of gold!

Ah, no longer wizard Fancy

Builds her castles in the air,
Luring me by necromancy

Up the never-ending stair;
But, instead, she builds me bridges
Over many a dark ravine,
Where beneath the gusty ridges

Cataracts dash and roar unseen. And I cross them, little heeding

Blast of wind or torrent's roar, As I follow the receding

Footsteps that have gone before.

Nought avails the imploring gesture, Nought avails the cry of pain! When I touch the flying vesture,

'Tis the gray robe of the rain. Baffled I return, and leaning

O'er the parapets of cloud, Watch the mist that intervening

Wraps the valley in its shroud. And the sounds of life ascending

Faintly, vaguely, meet the ear, Murmur of bells and voices blending With the rush of waters near. Well I know what there lies hidden, Every tower and town and farm, And again the land forbidden

Reassumes its vanished charm.

Well I know the secret places,

And the nests in hedge and tree; At what doors are friendly faces,

In what hearts are thoughts of me. Through the mist and darkness sinking, Blown by wind and beaten by shower,

Down I fling the thought I'm thinking, Down I toss this Alpine flower.

And yet the words they uttered seemed to change

Their meaning to my ear.

For the one face I looked for was not there,

The one low voice was mute; Only an unseen presence filled the air, And baffled my pursuit.

Now I look back, and meadow, manse, and stream

* Dimly my thought defines; I only see a dream within a dreamThe hill-top hearsed with pines.

I only hear above his place of rest
Their tender undertone,

The infinite longings of a troubled breast,

The voice so like his own.

There in seclusion and remote from

Then from each black, accursed mouth The cannon thundered in the South,

And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent.
The hearthstones of a continent,
And made forlorn

The households born

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed head; my "There is no peace on earth," I said; "For hate is strong And mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!" Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

"God is not dead; nor doth He sleep! The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail,

With peace on earth, good-will to men!"

KAMBALU.

INTO the city of Kambalu,

By the road that leadeth to Ispahan, At the head of his dusty caravan, Laden with treasure from realms afar, Baldacca and Kelat and Kandahar, Rode the great captain Aläu.

The Khan from his palace-window gazed,

And saw in the thronging street beneath,

In the light of the setting sun that blazed

Through the clouds of dust by the caravan raised,

The flash of harness and jewelled sheath,

And the shining scimitars of the guard, And the weary camels that bared their teeth,

As they passed and passed through the gates unbarred

Into the shade of the palace-yard.

Thus into the city of Kambalu
Rode the great captain Alau;

And he stood before the Khan, and

said:

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and fled,

And the garrison sallied forth and pursued,

With the gray old Kalif at their head, And above them the banner of Mohammed:

So we snared them all, and the town was subdued.

As in at the gate we rode, behold, A tower that was called the Tower of Gold!

For there the Kalif had hidden his wealth,

Heaped and hoarded and piled on high,

Like sacks of wheat in a granary; And thither the miser crept by stealth To feel of the gold that gave him health,

And to gaze and gloat with his hungry

eye

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On jewels that gleamed like a glow

worm's spark,

Or the eyes of a panther in the dark. "I said to the Kalif: 'Thou art old, Thou hast no need of so much gold. Thou shouldst not have heaped and hidden it here,

Till the breath of battle was hot and near,

But have sown through the land these useless hoards

To spring into shining blades of swords, And keep thine honour sweet and clear. These grains of gold are not grains of wheat;

These bars of silver thou canst not eat; These jewels and pearls and precious

stones

Cannot cure the aches in thy bones, Nor keep the feet of Death one hour From climbing the stairways of thy tower !'

"Then into his dungeon I locked the drone,

And left him to feed there all alone
In the honey-cells of his golden hive:
Never a prayer nor a cry nor a groan
Was heard from those massive walls of
stone,

Nor again was the Kalif seen alive!
"When at last we unlocked the door,
We found him dead upon the floor;
The rings had dropped from his
withered hands,

His teeth were like bones in the desert

While a moment more I linger,
Though the clock, with lifted finger,
Points beyond the midnight hour.
Sings the blackened log a tune
Learned in some forgotten June

From a schoolboy at his play,
When they both were young together,
Heart of youth and summer weather
Making all their holiday.

And the night-wind rising, hark!
How above there in the dark,

In the midnight and the snow,
Ever wilder, fiercer, grander,
Like the trumpets of Iskander,

All the noisy chimneys blow! Every quivering tongue of flame Seems to murmur some great name, Seems to say to me, "Aspire !" But the night-wind answers, "Hollow Are the visions that you follow, Into darkness sinks your fire!" Then the flicker of the blaze Gleams on volumes of old days, Written by masters of the art, Loud through whose majestic pages Rolls the melody of ages,

Throb the harp-strings of the heart. And again the tongues of flame Start exulting and exclaim: "These are prophets, bards, and

seers;

In the horoscope of nations,
Like ascendant constellations,

They control the coming years." But the night-wind cries: "Despair! Those who walk with feet of air

Leave no long-enduring marks; At God's forges incandescent Mighty hammers beat incessant,

These are but the flying sparks. "Dust are all the hands that wrought; Books are sepulchres of thought;

The dead laurels of the dead Rustle for a moment only, Like the withered leaves in lonely Churchyards at some passing tread." Suddenly the flame sinks down; Sink the rumours of renown; And alone the night-wind drear

Clamours louder, wilder, vaguer,"Tis the brand of Meleager

Dying on the hearth-stone here!" And I answer,-"Though it be, Why should that discomfort me? No endeavour is in vain; Its reward is in the doing, And the rapture of pursuing

Is the prize the vanquished gain."

THE BELLS OF LYNN,
HEARD AT NAHANT.

O CURFEW of the setting sun! O Bells of Lynn!

O requiem of the dying day! O Bells of Lynn!

From the dark belfries of yon cloudcathedral wafted,

Your sounds aërial seem to float, O Bells of Lynn!

Borne on the evening wind across the crimson twilight,

O'er land and sea they rise and fall, O Bells of Lynn!

The fisherman in his boat, far out

beyond the headland,

Listens, and leisurely rows ashore, O Bells of Lynn!

Over the shining sands the wandering cattle homeward

Follow each other at your call, O Bells

of Lynn !

The distant lighthouse hears, and with his flaming signal

Answers you, passing the watchword on, O Bells of Lynn!

And down the darkening coast run the tumultuous surges, And clap their hands, and shout to

you, O Bells of Lynn !

Till from the shuddering sea, with
your wild incantations,
Ye summon up the spectral moon, O
Bells of Lynn!

And startled at the sight, like the weird woman of Endor,

Ye cry aloud, and then are still, O Bells of Lynn!

fall,

And for a moment my blood grew chill;

I spake in a whisper, as he who speaks In a room where some one is lying dead;

But he made no answer to what I said.

We lifted him up to his saddle again, And through the mire and the mist and the rain

Carried him back to the silent camp, And laid him as if asleep on his bed; And I saw by the light of the surgeon's lamp

Two white roses upon his cheeks, And one, just over his heart, bloodred!

And saw in a vision how far and fleet That fatal bullet went speeding forth Till it reached a town in the distant North,

Till it reached a house in a sunny street,

Till it reached a heart that ceased to beat

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