HONORS.--PART I.

(_A Scholar is musing on his want of success._)


To strive--and fail. Yes, I did strive and fail;
I set mine eyes upon a certain night
To find a certain star--and could not hail
With them its deep-set light.

Fool that I was! I will rehearse my fault:
I, wingless, thought myself on high to lift
Among the winged--I set these feet that halt
To run against the swift.

And yet this man, that loved me so, can write--
That loves me, I would say, can let me see;
Or fain would have me think he counts but light
These Honors lost to me.

(_The letter of his friend._)
"What are they? that old house of yours which gave
Such welcome oft to me, the sunbeams fall
Yet, down the squares of blue and white which pave
Its hospitable hall.