The thousand cobweb threads, grown cable-huge By time's long gathered dust, but cobwebs still, Which bind the Many that the Few may gain Leisure to wither by the drought of ease What heavenly germs in their own souls were sown;-- By all these searching lessons thou hast learned To throw aside thy blood-stained helm and spear And with thy bare brow daunt the enemy's front, Knowing that God will make the lily stalk, In the soft grasp of naked Gentleness, Stronger than iron spear to shatter through The sevenfold toughness of Wrong's idle shield. A MYSTICAL BALLAD. I. The sunset scarce had dimmed away Into the twilight's doubtful gray; One long cloud o'er the horizon lay, 'Neath which, a streak of bluish white, Wavered between the day and night; Over the pine trees on the hill The trembly evening-star did thrill, And the new moon, with slender rim, Through the elm arches gleaming dim, Filled memory's chalice to the brim. II. On such an eve the heart doth grow Full of surmise, and scarce can know If it be now or long ago, Or if indeed it doth exist;-- A wonderful enchanted mist From the new moon doth wander out, Wrapping all things in mystic doubt, So that this world doth seem untrue, And all our fancies to take hue From some life ages since gone through. III. The maiden sat and heard the flow Of the west wind so soft and low The leaves scarce quivered to and fro; Unbound, her heavy golden hair Rippled across her bosom bare, Which gleamed with thrilling snowy white Far through the magical moonlight: The breeze rose with a rustling swell, And from afar there came the smell Of a long-forgotten lily-bell. IV. The dim moon rested on the hill, But silent, without thought or will, Where sat the dreamy maiden still; And now the moon's tip, like a star, Drew down below the horizon's bar; To her black noon the night hath grown, Yet still the maiden sits alone, Pale as a corpse beneath a stream And her white bosom still doth gleam Through the deep midnight like a dream. V. Cloudless the morning came and fair, And lavishly the sun doth share His gold among her golden hair, Kindling it all, till slowly so A glory round her head doth glow; A withered flower is in her hand, That grew in some far distant land, And, silently transfigurèd, With wide calm eyes, and undrooped head, They found the stranger-maiden dead. VI. A youth, that morn, 'neath other skies, Felt sudden tears burn in his eyes, And his heart throng with memories; All things without him seemed to win Strange brotherhood with things within, And he forever felt that he Walked in the midst of mystery, And thenceforth, why, he could not tell, His heart would curdle at the smell Of his once-cherished lily-bell.