They said, "You love too largely, and you must, Through wound on wound, grow bitter to your kind." They were false prophets; day by day I find More cause for love, and less cause for distrust. They said, "Too free you give your soul's rare wine; The world will quaff, but it will not repay." Yet in the emptied flagons, day by day, True hearts pour back a nectar as divine. Thy heritage! Is it not love's estate? Look to it, then, and keep its soil well tilled. I hold that my best wishes are fulfilled Because I love so much, and cannot hate. RESOLVE. Build on resolve, and not upon regret, The structure of thy future. Do not grope Among the shadows of old sins, but let Thine own soul's light shine on the path of hope And dissipate the darkness. Waste no tears Upon the blotted record of lost years, But turn the leaf and smile, oh, smile, to see The fair white pages that remain for thee. Prate not of thy repentance. But believe The spark divine dwells in thee: let it grow. That which the upreaching spirit can achieve The grand and all-creative forces know; They will assist and strengthen as the light Lifts up the acorn to the oak tree's height. Thou hast but to resolve, and lo! God's whole Great universe shall fortify thy soul. AT ELEUSIS. I, at Eleusis, saw the finest sight, When early morning's banners were unfurled. From high Olympus, gazing on the world, The ancient gods once saw it with delight. Sad Demeter had in a single night Removed her sombre garments! and mine eyes Beheld a 'broidered mantle in pale dyes Thrown o'er her throbbing bosom. Sweet and clear There fell the sound of music on mine ear. And from the South came Hermes, he whose lyre One time appeased the great Apollo's ire. The rescued maid, Persephone, by the hand He led to waiting Demeter, and cheer And light and beauty once more blessed the land. COURAGE. There is a courage, a majestic thing That springs forth from the brow of pain, full-grown, Minerva-like, and dares all dangers known, And all the threatening future yet may bring; Crowned with the helmet of great suffering; Serene with that grand strength by martyrs shown, When at the stake they die and make no moan, And even as the flames leap up are heard to sing: A courage so sublime and unafraid, It wears its sorrows like a coat of mail; And Fate, the archer, passes by dismayed, Knowing his best barbed arrows needs must fail To pierce a soul so armored and arrayed That Death himself might look on it and quail. [Illustration:] SOLITUDE.