UNREST.

Comes there, O Earth, no breathing time for thee? No pause upon thy many-chequered lands? Now resting on my bed with listless hands, I mourn thee resting not. Continually Hear I the plashing borders of the sea Answer each other from the rocks and sands. Troop all the rivers seawards; nothing stands, But with strange noises hasteth terribly. Loam-eared hyenas go a moaning by. Howls to each other all the bloody crew Of Afric's tigers. But, O men, from you Comes this perpetual sound more loud and high Than aught that vexes air. I hear the cry Of infant generations rising too.]