A PARABLE. SAID Christ our Lord, "I will go and see How the men, my brethren, believe in me.” Then said the chief priests, and rulers, and kings. Behold, now, the Giver of all good things; 66 Go to, let us welcome with pomp and state With carpets of gold the ground they spread And in palace-chambers lofty and rare Great organs surged through arches dim But still, wherever his steps they led, And in church and palace, and judgment-hall, "Have ye founded your thrones and altars, then, On the bodies and souls of living men? And think ye that building shall endure, "With gates of silver and bars of gold, Ye have fenced my sheep from their Father's fold : "O Lord and Master, not ours the guilt, "Our task is hard,-with sword and flame Then Christ sought out an artisan, These set he in the midst of them, ODE WRITTEN FOR THE CELEBRATION OF THE INTRODUCTION OF THE COCHITUATE WATER INTO THE CITY OF BOSTON. My name is Water: I have sped Through strange, dark ways, untried before, By pure desire of friendship led, Cochituate's ambassador; He sends four royal gifts by me: I'm Ceres' cup-bearer; I pour, For flowers and fruits and all their kin, Her crystal vintage, from of yore Stored in old Earth's selectest bin, Flora's Falernian ripe, since God The wine-press of the deluge trod. In that far isle whence, iron-willed, The New World's sires their bark unmoored, The fairies' acorn-cups I filled Upon the toadstool's silver board, And, 'neath Herne's oak, for Shakspeare's sight, No fairies in the Mayflower came, I've toiled and drudged this many a year, I, too, can weave; the warp I set Through which the sun his shuttle throws, And, bright as Noah saw it, yet For you the arching rainbow glows, A sight in Paradise denied To unfallen Adam and his bride. When Winter held me in his grip, You seized and sent me o'er the wave, But I forgive, not long a slave, For countless services I'm fit, Of use, of pleasure, and of gain, Nor lose my mirth, nor feel a stain; So, free myself, to-day, elate I come from far o'er hill and mead, And here, Cochituate's envoy, wait To be your blithesome Ganymede, And brim your cups with nectar true That never will make slaves of you. LINES SUGGESTED BY THE GRAVES OF TWO ENGLISH SOLDIERS ON CONCORD BATTLE-GROUND. THE same good blood that now refills Poured here in vain ;-that sturdy blood Than broke this April noon serene; These men were brave enough, and true The turf that covers them no thrill |