HECTOR IN THE GARDEN. 
XVI. 
Oh, the birds, the tree, the ruddy 
And white blossoms, sleek with rain I 
Oh, my garden, rich with pansies ! 
Oh, my childhood, bright romances! 
All revive, like Hector’s body, 
And I see them stir again ! 
XVII. 
And despite life’s changes—chances. 
And despite the death-bell’s toll, 
They press on me in full seeming!—- 
Help, some angel! stay this dreaming I 
As the birds sang in the branches, 
Sing God’s patience through my soul! 
xv in. 
That no dreamer, no neglecter, 
Of the present's work unsped, 
I may wake up and be doing, 
Life’s heroic ends pursuing, 
Though my past is dead as Hector, 
And though Hector is twice dead. 
