But O blithe breeze! and O great seas, Though ne'er, that earliest parting past, On your wide plain they join again, Together lead them home at last. One port, methought, alike they sought, One purpose hold where'er they fare,-- O bounding breeze, O rushing seas! At last, at last, unite them there. LXX. DUTY. ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. Duty--that's to say, complying With whate'er's expected here; On your unknown cousin's dying, Straight be ready with the tear; Upon etiquette relying, Unto usage nought denying, Lend your waist to be embraced, Blush not even, never fear; Claims of kith and kin connection, Claims of manners honor still, Ready money of affection Pay, whoever drew the bill. With the form conforming duly, Senseless what it meaneth truly, Go to church--the world require you, To balls--the world require you too, And marry--papa and mamma desire you, And your sisters and schoolfellows do. Duty--'tis to take on trust What things are good, and right, and just; And whether indeed they be or be not, Try not, test not, feel not, see not: 'Tis walk and dance, sit down and rise By leading, opening ne'er your eyes; Stunt sturdy limbs that Nature gave, And be drawn in a Bath chair along to the grave. 'Tis the stern and prompt suppressing, As an obvious deadly sin, All the questing and the guessing Of the soul's own soul within: 'Tis the coward acquiescence In a destiny's behest, To a shade by terror made, Sacrificing, aye, the essence Of all that's truest, noblest, best: 'Tis the blind non-recognition Or of goodness, truth, or beauty, Save by precept and submission; Moral blank, and moral void, Life at very birth destroy'd. Atrophy, exinanition! Duty! Yea, by duty's prime condition Pure nonentity of duty! LXXI. SONNETS. CHARLES HEAVYSEGE.--1816-1876. I. The day was lingering in the pale north-west, And night was hanging o'er my head,-- Night where a myriad stars were spread; While down in the east, where the light was least, Seem'd the home of the quiet dead. And, as I gazed on the field sublime, To watch the bright, pulsating stars, Adown the deep where the angels sleep Came drawn the golden chime Of those great spheres that sound the years For the horologe of time. Millenniums numberless they told, Millenniums a million-fold From the ancient hour of prime. II.