The wild Ever-during is calling for me,
A missel's song and a curlew's cry,
Blent with a rivulet's minstrelsy,
And the crooning voice of the fir-top's sigh.
'Tis the great god Pan that I seek to find
Borne on the wings of my lover Wind.
"O! make me one with the wondrous earth,
God of the woods and the laughing rills!
Make me one with the lucent mirth
Of the Sun as he rides o'er the gorse-loved hills.
When I am gone and my singing is mute
Give to my Lover my silent lute."
ROSEBERRY TOPPING.
THE ROAD
Over the moor in the velvet dusk
Mysteriously it lies.
White thro' the heath and the swart fir woods
White 'neath the twilit skies.
'Tis hid in the folds of the purple hills,
Seeking a fern-fringed burn:
But it mounts again, then is lost once more,
With a tremulous, misting turn.
Where blue mists gather beneath the moon
It shows as a silvern stream.
O Path of Life, you are out of sight,
And lost in a wistful dream.
JUGGER HOWE DALE.