Father Ignatius,—Yet for safety's sake,—
Give ye the thalers,—that they read a mass
For that same pike-man's soul,—that when my foot
Is set in heaven,—the carrion may not
From flames of hell lock forth upon me with
Those eyes of his,—the ending,—Yea,—because—
1. ON THE HILL-SIDE.
Here is the sweetest grass-plot for a bed,
In softest lethargy to close the eyes,
On naught to brood, nor yearn, but let the head
Droop in the grassy couch. . . Like wreckage flies
A huddled clot of clouds, that yonder soar
Behind the mountain's ridge. . . All lulls thee here,
Insects adrone, grass, plant-steme bending o'er,
The flight of sluggish moths. . . To thee appear
Gleams as from waters, with a radiant leap.
And by thy head there stands a calm unknown.
Thou feel'st 'tis wondrous with the dead to sleep,
For Earth has cradle-ditties of her own!
