POETRY.
TO MR. MILL.
Wnom shall we follow ? The flame-haired daughter Of Chaos and Change, ever victorious, That ever of rage, and ruin, and slaughter, Shapeth and bringeth us new things glorious?
* All 'paper ' editions come to pieces; but limp cloth, well sewn, will roll up, and keep together for years.
t We entirely acknowledged the superior cheapness of Messrs. Chapman's edition.
Spreading her vans over land, over city, All old things topple, and crash, and are dust ; Rotten and false things fall, without pity,
Not a husk of them left, not a shell, not a crust,—
Men's hearts leap at the coming of change, Weariness wakes, new life begins, Men's souls catch fire when days be strange, Man putteth on strength, patteth off his sins.
Or Thee, with the brows that know not trouble, The eyes that look on eternal day, Unchafed, unworn, in storm and bubble, Serene though chaos about thee play With weaving hands that intermit not, Thou makest the seed a shining flower, Knowing thy purpose, though we wit not, Building the years up from the hour.
Thy blessing, and light, and strength are of old, But that one, though she ravin and swallow,
Yet for the brass she giveth us gold,—
For the good, the better,—Whom shall we follow? B.
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