DOMINION.

Yon mooréd mackerel fleet

Hangs thick as a swarm of bees,

Or a clustering village street

Foundationless built on the seas.

The mariners ply their craft,

Each set in his castle frail;

His care is all for the draught,

And he dries the rain-beaten sail.

For rain came down in the night,

And thunder muttered full oft,

But now the azure is bright.

And hawks are wheeling aloft.

I take the land to my breast,

In her coat with daisies fine;

For me are the hills in their best,

And all that's made is mine.

Sing high! “Though the red sun dip,

There yet is a day for me;

Nor youth I count for a ship

That long ago foundered at sea.

“Did the lost love die and depart?

Many times since we have met;

For I hold the years in my heart,

And all that was — is yet.

“I grant to the king his reign;

Let us yield him homage due;

But over the lands there are twain,

O king, I must rule as you.

“I grant to the wise his meed,

But his yoke I will not brook,

For God taught ME to read,—

He lent me the world for a book.”