"I know the one thing noble is a grief Withstanding earth's and hell's destructive tooth, And I, through all my dolorous life and brief, To gain the mystic crown, must cry the truth. "The jewels lost in Palmyra of old, Metals unknown, pearls of the outer sea, Are far too dim to set within the gold Of the bright crown that Time prepares for me. "For it is wrought of pure unmingled light, Dipped in the white flame whence all flame is born-- The flame that makes all eyes, though diamond-bright, Seem obscure mirrors, darkened and forlorn." GYPSIES TRAVELLING. The tribe prophetic with the eyes of fire Went forth last night; their little ones at rest Each on his mother's back, with his desire Set on the ready treasure of her breast. Laden with shining arms the men-folk tread By the long wagons where their goods lie hidden; They watch the heaven with eyes grown wearied Of hopeless dreams that come to them unbidden. The grasshopper, from out his sandy screen, Watching them pass redoubles his shrill song; Dian, who loves them, makes the grass more green, And makes the rock run water for this throng Of ever-wandering ones whose calm eyes see Familiar realms of darkness yet to be. FRANCISCÆ MEÆ LAUDES. Novis te cantabo chordis, O novelletum quod ludia In solitudine cordis. Esto sertis implicata, O fœmina delicata Per quam solvuntur peccata Sicut beneficum Lethe, Hauriam oscula de te, Quæ imbuta es magnete. Quum vitiorum tempestas Turbabat omnes semitas, Apparuisti, Deitas, Velut stella salutaris In naufragiis amaris.... Suspendam cor tuis aris! Piscina plena virtutis, Fons æternæ juventutis, Labris vocem redde mutis! Quod erat spurcum, cremasti; Quod rudius, exæquasti; Quod debile, confirmasti! In fame mea taberna, In nocte mea lucerna, Recte me semper guberna. Adde nunc vires viribus, Dulce balneum suavibus, Unguentatum odoribus! Meos circa I umbos mica, O castitatis lorica, Aqua tincta seraphica; Patera gemmis corusca, Panis salsus, mollis esca, Divinum vinum, Francisca! ROBED IN A SILKEN ROBE. Robed in a silken robe that shines and shakes, She seems to dance whene'er she treads the sod, Like the long serpent that a fakir makes Dance to the waving cadence of a rod. As the sad sand upon the desert's verge, Insensible to mortal grief and strife; As the long weeds that float among the surge, She folds indifference round her budding life. Her eyes are carved of minerals pure and cold, And in her strange symbolic nature where An angel mingles with the sphinx of old, Where all is gold and steel and light and air, For ever, like a vain star, unafraid Shines the cold hauteur of the sterile maid.