Vain, very vain, my weary search to find That bliss which only centres in the mind: Why have I stray’d from pleasure and repose, 425 To seek a good each government bestows? In every government, though terrors reign, Though tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain, How small, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure? 430 Still to ourselves in every place consign’d, Our own felicity we make or find: With secret course, which no loud storms annoy Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, 435 Luke’s iron crown, and Damiens’ bed of steel, To men remote from power but rarely known, Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own. * * * * * =HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA.= Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the north-west died away; Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay; Bluish mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay; In the dimmest north-east distance, dawned Gibraltar grand and gray; “Here and here did England help me—how can I help England?”—say, 5 Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray, While Jove’s planet rises yonder, silent over Africa. * * * * * =THE PATRIOT.= AN OLD STORY. I. It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad, The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway, The church-spires flamed, such flags they had, A year ago on this very day! 5 II. The air broke into a mist with bells, The old walls rocked with the crowds and cries, Had I said, “Good folk, mere noise repels— But give me your sun from yonder skies!” They had answered, “And afterward, what else?” 10 III. Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun, To give it my loving friends to keep. Nought man could do have I left undone, And you see my harvest, what I reap This very day, now a year is run. 15 IV. There’s nobody on the house-tops now— Just a palsied few at the windows set— For the best of the sight is, all allow, At the Shambles’ Gate—or, better yet, By the very scaffold’s foot, I trow. 20 V. I go in the rain, and, more than needs, A rope cuts both my wrists behind, And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds, For they fling, whoever has a mind, Stones at me for my year’s misdeeds. 25 VI. Thus I entered, and thus I go! In triumphs, people have dropped down dead; “Thou, paid by the world,—what dost thou owe Me?” God might question: now instead ’Tis God shall repay! I am safer so. 30 * * * * *