women think all men are knaves, And shrew-bound gentlemen discourse of slaves; As reeling drunkards judge the world unsteady And idlers swear employers ne'er get ready—   Thieves that the constable stole all they had, The mad that all except themselves are mad; So, in another's clear escutcheon shown, Barnes rails at stains reflected from his own; Prates of "docility," nor feels the dark Ring round his neck—the Ralston collar mark. Back, man, to studies interrupted once, Ere yet the rogue had merged into the dunce. Back, back to Yale! and, grown with years discreet, The course a virgin's lust cut short, complete. Go drink again at the Pierian pool, And learn—at least to better play the fool. No longer scorn the draught, although the font, Unlike Pactolus, waters not Belmont. 

 

 A VISION OF RESURRECTION

   I had a dream. The habitable earth—   Its continents and islands, all were bare Of cities and of forests. Naught remained Of its old aspect, and I only knew   (As men know things in dreams, unknowing how)   That this was earth and that all men were dead. On every side I saw the barren land, Even to the distant sky's inclosing blue, Thick-pitted all with graves; and all the graves Save one were open—not as newly dug, But rather as by some internal force Riven for egress. Tombs of stone were split And wide agape, and in their iron decay The massive mausoleums stood in halves. With mildewed linen all the ground was white. Discarded shrouds upon memorial stones Hung without motion in the soulless air. While greatly marveling how this should be I heard, or fancied that I heard, a voice, Low like an angel's, delicately strong, And sweet as music.                        —"Spirit," it said, "behold The burial place of universal Man! A million years have rolled away since here His sheeted multitudes (save only some Whose dark misdeeds required a separate   And individual arraignment) rose To judgment at the trumpet's summoning And passed into the sky for their award, Leaving behind these perishable things Which yet, preserved by miracle, endure Till all are up. Then they and all of earth, Rock-hearted mountain and storm-breasted sea, River and wilderness and sites of dead And vanished capitals of men, shall spring To flame, and naught shall be for evermore! When all are risen that wonder will occur.   'Twas but ten centuries ago the last But one came forth—a soul so black with sin, Against whose name so many crimes were set That only now his trial is at end. But one remains."    Straight, as the voice was stilled—   

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