New Orleans Republican. [volume] (New Orleans, La) 1867-1878, 1876-03-12

| We know, ve know. that We can smile;
| But there's . something In this breast
| To which thy light words bring NO rest.
And thy gsy smiles no suodyne.
Give mo thy hand, and hush awhile,
And turn those limpid eyes on mine.
And lot mo read there, love, thy inmost soul.
Alas, 10 even Love too weak
! To unlock tho heart and Let it speak!
| Arc even lovers powerless to reveal
| To ono another what indeed they feel,
| knew the mass Of men eonceapd
| Their thoughts for fear that If reveald
They would BY othtr men be met
| With blank indifference, or with blame reprov'd.
knew they lived and mov'd
Trickd In disguises, alien to the rest
or men, and alien to themselves; and yet
| The same heart beats in every human breast
But We. my love, does like spell benumb
Our hearts-our voicese Must We, too, be dumb1
All. we'll for Us, IL even We
Even for moment. can yet free
Our heart. and have our lips unclaimed;
For that which seals them hath BET deep Or
dAined.
Fate which fort saw
How frivolous baby-man would be.
BY wi at distractions he would be possessd,
How he would pour himself in every strife,
And wellnigh change his own identity;
That it might keep from his cap1icious pay
His genuine SELF and force him to obey,
Even in his own despite, his beings law,
Babe through the deep zecesses Of our breast
The unregarded River of our Life,
Pursue with indiscernibie dow it's way;
And that we should not see
The buried stream, and seem to be
Eddying about in blind uncertainty,
Though driv Cg on with it eternsiiy
But often inthe worlds most crowded streets.
But often in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakabie desire
After the knowledge Of our buried life,
thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery Of this heart that heats
So wild, so deep in us. to know
Whence our thoughts come, and where thsyso.
And many man in his own breast then dtlve
But deep enough, alas, none ever mines;
And We have been on many thousand lines.
And we have shown each talent and power
But hardly have we for one little hour
Reen on our own line, have we been ourselves
Hardly had skill to utter one OF oil
The nameless feelings that cour.c through our
breast
But they course on forever uaexpresst
And long We try in vain to speak and act
Our hidden self and what we say and do
10 eloquent. ia well-but its not tIu.
And then we will no more be rack'd
With inward striving, and demand
OF all the thousand nothings of the ho1r
Their Supplying power;
All, yes, and they benumb US at our AL
Yet still, from time to time, vague and forlorn,
From the souls subterTanean depth upborne,
Az from infinitely distant land,
Come a!rs and floating echoes, and convey
melancholy into all our day.
Only-but this is rare
When beloved hand il laid in ours,
When jaded with the rush and glare
OF the interminable hours
Our eyes can in anothers eyes read clea-,
When our world dez1eh'd ear
Is by the tones Of lov'd voice caress'd-
bolt 10 shot back somew where in our breast.
And lost pulse of feeling stirs again;
The eye sinks inward, and the he art lies plain,
And what we mean we say, and what We would We
A man becomes aware Of his LIES fow
And hears its winding murmur. and he sees
The meadows where 1t glides, the sun, tae breeze;
And there arrives . lull in tho hot race
Wherein he doth forever chase
That flying and elusive shadow-Rest
An air of GOODNESS plays upon his face.
And An unwonted calm pervsdes his brea:t.
And then he thinks he knows
The Hills where his life rose.
And the Sea where it goes.
TO BE CONTINUED.