But thou might'st easilier with that tongue of thine
Persuade yon smoke to fly i' th' face o' the wind,
Than talk away my wit and understanding.

I say yon herald shall not enter here.

Artevelde. I know, sir, no man better, where my talk Is serviceable singly, where it needs

To be by acts enforced. I say, beware,

And brave not mine authority too far.

Van den Bosch. Hast thou authority to take my life? What is it else to let yon herald in

To bargain for our blood?

Artevelde.

Thy life again!

Why, what a very slave of life art thou!

Look round about on this once-populous town ;
Not one of these innumerous house-tops

But hides some spectral form of misery,
Some peevish, pining child and moaning mother,
Some aged man that in his dotage scolds,
Not knowing why he hungers, some cold corse
That lies unstraightened where the spirit left it.
Look round, and answer what thy life can be
To tell for more than dust upon the balance.
I, too, would live-I have a love for life-
But rather than to live to charge my soul
With one hour's lengthening out of woes like these,
I'd leap this parapet with as free a bound

As e'er was schoolboy's o'er a garden wall.
Van den Bosch. I'd like to see thee do it.
Artevelde.

I know thou wouldst;

But for the present be content to see
My less precipitate descent; for lo!
There comes the herald o'er the hill.

Van den Bosch.

Reshrew thee!

Thou shalt not have the start of me in this.

[Exit.

[He follows, and the scene closes.

TRENCH.

THE SPILT PEARLS.

HIS courtiers of the Caliph crave,-
"Oh, say how this may be,

That of thy slaves, this Ethiop slave
Is best beloved by thee?

"For he is ugly as the Night;
But when has ever chose

A nightingale, for its delight,
A hueless, scentless rose?"

The Caliph, then :-"No features fair,
Nor comely mien, are his;
Love is the beauty he doth wear,
And Love his glory is.

"When once a camel of my train
There fell in narrow street,

From broken casket roll'd amain
Rich pearls before my feet.

"I winking to the slaves that I
Would freely give them these,
At once upon the spoil they fly,
The costly boon to seize.

"One only at my side remained

Beside this Ethiop none:

He, moveless as the steed he reined,

Behind me sat alone.

"What will thy gain, good fellow, be, Thus lingering at my side?' 'My king, that I shall faithfully Have guarded thee,' he cried.

"True servant's title he may wear,
He only who has not,

For his lord's gifts, how rich soe'er,
His lord himself forgot."

So thou alone dost walk before
Thy God with perfect aim,
From Him desiring nothing more
Beside Himself to claim.

For if thou not to Him aspire,

But to His gifts alone,

Not Love, but covetous desire,

Has brought thee to His throne.

While such thy prayer, it climbs above
In vain the golden key

Of God's rich treasure-house of love,
Thine own will never be.

LIFE THROUGH DEATH.

A DEW-DROP, falling on the wild sea wave,
Exclaim'd in fear, "I perish in this grave;"
But, in a shell received, that drop of dew
Unto a pearl of marvellous beauty grew;
And, happy, now the grave did magnify
Which thrust it forth, as it had fear'd, to die ;-
Until again, "I perish quite," it said,
Torn by rude diver from its ocean bed;
O unbelieving! so it came to gleam
Chief jewel in a monarch's diadem.

A WALK IN A CHURCHYARD.

WE walk'd within the churchyard bounds,
My little boy and I-

He laughing, running happy rounds,

I pacing mournfully.

"Nay, child! it is not well," I said,
"Among the graves to shout,—

To laugh and play among the dead,
And make this noisy rout."