Then fold the Tent-then on again;
One spot of ashen black,

The only sign that here has lain
The traveller's recent track:
And gladly forward, safe to find
At noon and eve a home,
Till we have left our Tent behind,
The homeless ocean-foam!

THE THINKER AND THE POET.

SUNSHINE often falls refulgent

After all the corn is in ;

Often Allah grants indulgent

Pleasure that may guard from sin :
Hence your wives may number four;
Though he best consults his reason,
Best secures his house from treason,
Who takes one and wants no more.

Nor less well the man once gifted
With one high and holy Thought,
Will not let his mind be shifted,
But adores it, as he ought;
Well for him whose spirit's youth
Rests as a contented lover,
Nor can other charms discover

Than in his absorbing Truth!

But the heaven-enfranchised Poet
Must have no exclusive home,

He must feel, and freely show it,—
Phantasy is made to roam :

He must give his passions range,
He must serve no single duty,
But from Beauty pass to Beauty,
Constant to a constant change.

With all races, of all ages,
He must people his Hareem;
He must search the tents of sages,
He must scour the vales of dream:
Ever adding to his store,

From new cities, from new nations,
He must rise to new creations,
And, unsated, ask for more.

In the manifold, the various,
He delights, as Nature's child,—
Grasps at joys the most precarious,
Rides on hopes, however wild!
Though his heart at times perceives
One enduring Love hereafter,

Glimmering through his tears and laughter,

Like the sun through autumn leaves.

LOSS AND GAIN.

MYRIAD Roses, unregretted, perish in their vernal bloom, That the essence of their sweetness once your Beauty may perfume.

Myriad Veins of richest life-blood empty forth their priceless worth,

To exalt one Will imperial over spacious realms of earth.

Myriad Hearts are pained and broken that one Poet may be taught

To discern the shapes of passion and describe them as he ought.

Myriad Minds of heavenly temper pass as passes moon or star, That one philosophic Spirit may ascend the solar car.

Sacrifice and Self-devotion hallow earth and fill the skies, And the meanest Life is sacred whence the highest may arise.

PLEASURE AND PAIN.

WHO can determine the frontier of Pleasure?
Who can distinguish the limit of Pain?
Where is the moment the feeling to measure?
When is experience repeated again?

Ye who have felt the delirium of passion-
Say, can ye sever its joys and its pangs?
Is there a power in calm contemplation

To indicate each upon each as it hangs?

I would believe not ;-for spirit may languish
While sense is most blest and creation most bright;
And life may be dearer and clearer in anguish
Than ever was felt in the throbs of delight.

See the Fakeer as he swings on his iron,

See the thin Hermit that starves in the wild; Think ye no pleasures the penance environ,

And hope the sole bliss by which pain is beguiled?

No! in the kingdoms those spirits are reaching,
Vain are our words the emotions to tell;
Vain the distinctions our senses are teaching,
For Pain has its Heaven and Pleasure its Hell!

THE PEACE OF GOD.

"The blessed shall hear no vain words, but only the word-Peace.

KURAN, chap. xix. v. 63.

PEACE is God's direct assurance

To the souls that win release
From this world of hard endurance-

Peace he tells us-only Peace.

There is Peace in lifeless matter-
There is Peace in dreamless sleep-
Will then Death our being shatter
In annihilation's deep?

Ask you this? O mortal trembler !
Hear the Peace that Death affords,
For your God is no dissembler,
Cheating you with double words:

To this life's inquiring traveller,
Peace of knowledge of all good,—
To the anxious truth-unraveller,
Peace of wisdom understood,—

To the loyal wife, affection

Towards her husband, free from fear,

To the faithful friend, selection

Of all memo'ries kind and dear,—

To the lover, full fruition

Of an unexhausted joy,—

To the warrior, crowned ambition,
With no envy's base alloy,-

To the ruler, sense of action,

Working out his great intent,—

To the prophet, satisfaction

In the mission he was sent,—

To the poet, conscious glory

Flowing from his Father's face ;

Such is Peace in holy story,

Such is Peace in heavenly grace.