Before I left Paris, I went down into the old corridor again, in the Rue de Seine. I looked up in the court at the little window at the top.
A new occupant had gone in; the broken glass was re-set, and a dirty printed curtain was hanging over the lower half. I had rather have seen it empty.
I half wished I had never seen Le Petit Soulier.
EARLY ENGLISH POETS.
BY ELIZABETH J. EAMES.
MILTON.
Learned and illustrious of all Poets thou,
Whose Titan intellect sublimely bore
The weight of years unbent; thou, on whose brow
Flourish'd the blossom of all human lore—
How dost thou take us back, as 't were by vision,
To the grave learning of the Sanhedrim;
And we behold in visitings Elysian,
Where waved the white wings of the Cherubim;
But, through thy "Paradise Lost," and "Regained,"
We might, enchanted, wander evermore.
Of all the genius-gifted thou hast reigned
King of our hearts; and, till upon the shore
Of the Eternal dies the voice of Time,
Thy name shall mightiest stand—pure, brilliant, and sublime.