RALPH WALDO EMERSON

Far or forgot to me is near ;

Shadow and sunlight are the same ; The vanished gods to me appear ;

And one to me are shame and fame.

They reckon ill who leave me out ;

When me they fly, I am the wings ; I am the doubter and the doubt,

And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.

The strong gods pine for my abode, And pine in vain the sacred Seven ;

But thou, meek lover of the good !

Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.

��RICHARD HENRY HORNE

673. The Tlough

A LANDSCAPE IN BERKSHIRE

A BOVE yon sombre swell of land

• Thou see'st the dawn's grave orange hue,

With one pale streak like yellow sand, And over that a vein of blue.

The air is cold above the woods;

All silent is the earth and sky, Except with his own lonely moods

The blackbird holds a colloquy.

Over the broad hill creeps a beam,

Like hope that gilds a good man's brow ;

And now ascends the nostril-stream Of stalwart horses come to plough.

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