or in the doing of a worthy deed
Lies all the honour that a man should seek."
And thus he turn'd away unto the sea,
And would not tarry, or for prayers, or tears;
And when he came unto the quiet port,
He said no word unto his waiting men,
But gazed out seaward; and the waves were down,
The clouds fast breaking, and the West wind blew;
And many a sail sped swiftly o'er the main,
White in the sunshine as a sea-gull's wing--
And so he went on ship-board cheerily,
And they hove anchor with a right good-will,
And spreading canvas to the welcome breeze,
Bore swiftly out into the open sea;
And Guy stood silent in the dipping bows,
Gazing out seaward with a strange still smile.

AT EVENTIDE.

The day fades fast;
And backward ebbs the tide of light
From the far hills in billows bright,
Scattering foam, as they sweep past,
O'er the low clouds that bank the sky,
And barrier day off solemnly.

Above the land
Grey shadows stretch out, still and cold,
Flinging o'er water, wood, and wold,
Mysterious shapes, whose ghastly hand
Presses down sorrow on the heart,
And silence on the lips that part.

The dew-mist broods
Heavy and low o'er field and fen,
Like gloom above the souls of men;
And through the forest solitudes
The fitful night-wind rustles by,
Breathing many a wailing sigh--

O Day! O Life!
Ending in gloom together here--
Though not one star of Hope appear,
Still through the cold bleak Future gaze,
That mocks thee with its murky haze;
Soon morn shall end the doubt, the strife,
And give unto thy weeping eyes
The far night-guarded Paradise!

A DIRGE.

Winds are sighing round the drooping eaves;
Sadly float the midnight hours away;
Dun and grey athwart the ivy-leaves,
Fall the first pale chilly tints of day,
Ah me! the weary, weary tints of day.

Soon the darkness will be past and gone;
Soon the silence spread its noiseless wing;
Sleep will strike its tent and hurry on;
Life commence its weary wandering,
Ah me! its weary, weary wandering.

Not the sighing of my lonely heart,
Not the heavy grief-clouds hanging o'er,
Not its silence can with night depart:
Gloom hangs o'er it ever, evermore,
Ah me! darkness ever, evermore.

TO MY DREAM-LOVE.

Where art thou, oh! my Beautiful? Afar
I seek thee sadly, till the day is done,
And o'er the splendour of the setting sun,
Cold, calm, and silvery, floats the evening star;
Wh