“The Coming Storm:”

All feeling hearts must feel for him Who felt this picture. Presage dim— Dim inklings from the shadowy sphere Fixed him and fascinated here.

A demon-cloud like the mountain one Burst on a spirit as mild As this urned lake, the home of shades. But Shakspeare's pensive child

Never the lines had lightly scanned, Steeped in fable, steeped in fate; The Hamlet in his heart was 'ware, Such hearts can antedate.

No utter surprise can come to him Who reaches Shakspeare's core; That which we seek and shun is there— 4Man's final lore.