IN THE MOUNTAINS.

Fatigued of heart, and owning how the world
Is strong, too strong for will of mine, my steps
Through the tall pines I led, to reach that spur

Which strikes from off the mountain toward the

West.

I hoped to lull a fretted heart to sleep,

And in the place of definite thought a sense

Possessed me, dim and sweet, of Motherhood,

The breasts of Nature, warmth, and soothing hands, And tender, inarticulate nursing-words

Slow uttered o'er tired eyes.

But suddenly

Rude waking! Suddenly the rocks, the trees
Stood up in rangèd power, rigid, erect,

And all cried out on me "Away with him!

Away! He is not of us, has no part

In ours or us! Traitor, away with him!"

And the birds shrilled it "Traitor," and the flowers

Stared up at me with small, hard, insolent eyes.

But I, who had been weak, was weak no more,

Nor shrank at all, but with deliberate step

Moved on, and with both hands waved off the

throng,

And feared them not, nor sent defiance back.

Thus, till the pine-glooms fell away, and goats

Went tinkling and no herd-boy near; glad airs
With sunshine in them moved angelical

Upon the solitary heights; the sky

Held not a cloud from marge to marge; and now
Westward the sun was treading, calm and free.
I lay upon the grass, and how an hour

Went past I know not. When again time was,
The sun had fallen, and congregated clouds,

A vision of great glories, held the West,

And through them, and beyond, the hyaline

Led the charm'd spirit through infinite spaces on.

I think of all the men upon this earth

The sight was mine alone; it for my soul,

My soul for it, until all seeing died.

Where did I live transfigured? through what times Of heaven's great year? What sudden need of me For sacrifice on altar, or for priest,

For soldier at the rampart, cup-bearer

At feasts of God, rapt singer in the joy

Of consonant praise, doom'd rebel for the fires?
-I know not, but somewhere some part I held,
Nor fail'd when summoned.

When the body took

Its guest once more the clouds were massy-grey,
The event was ended; yet a certain thing
Abode with me, which still eludes its name,
Yet lies within my heart like some great word
A mage has taught, and he who heard it once
Cannot pronounce, and never may forget.
But this I dare record,-when all was past,
And once again I turned to seek the vale,
And moved adown the slippery pine-wood path,

In the dimness every pine tree bowed to me With duteous service, and the rocks lay couched Like armed followers round, and one bird sang The song I chose, and heavy fragrance came From unseen flowers, and all things were aware One passed who had been called and consecrate.

"THE TOP OF A HILL CALLED CLEAR."

(In sight of the Celestial City.)

And all my days led on to this! the days

Of pallid light, of springs no sun would warm,

Of chilling rain autumnal, which decays

High woods while veering south the quick wings

swarm,

The days of hot desire, of broken dreaming, Mechanic toil, poor pride that was but seeming, And bleeding feet, and sun-smit flowerless ways.

Below me spreads a sea of tranquil light,

No blue cloud thunder-laden, but pure air

Shot through and through with sunshine; from this height

A man might cast himself in joy's despair, And find unhoped, to bear him lest he fall, Swift succouring wings, and hands angelical,

And circling of soft eyes, and foreheads bright.