ER lips they are closed, and prest

Are the motionless eyelids, for ere the day shone The Shadow did sign her and seal her his own; Shall he carry the soul to its rest?

Lo! she knew not the good nor the fair,
And if ever a glimpse of what true joy is
Gave the lie to her revels and gaieties,
It but blackened her soul's despair.

How then shall she fare? say they,

God hath scanned her work and it was not well;
Of good she hath done man hath nought to tell:
Shall He blot her for aye away
?

Found Dead.

Nay she knew not the good, but why?

Can the bird love the woods he hath never seen?

He

may chafe at the bounds of his dull wire-screen, But how should he love the sky?

I judge not of men, saith He,

By the cobweb works they have spun at and planned; 'Tis enough if the heart did not go with the hand : 'Tis enough that she wept, saith He.

G. H. C.

99

B

I lay amid the leaves,

And dreamt of golden visions

In bygone summer eves;

And I saw up the fragrant vista

A bright form slowly pass,

Up from the silver lakelet,

Up through the long, green grass.

Radiant its face, and happy,

Glowing the golden hair,

And white wings on its shoulders,

And raiment wondrous fair; But, ere it reached the archway,

Slumbrous with rich perfume,

Another form came stealing

From the dewy laurel-gloom;

The Time Walk.

Its pale face, half averted,

Hung drooping on its breast,
Folded its wings, and its fingers
To wet cheeks tightly prest,
As if to hide its sorrow,

And tears that fell like rain-
Tears shed in sweet compassion
For weary souls in pain.

*

But soon the visions faded,

And I well know what they mean:
One told "what is " and "will be,"
And one "what might have been."

B. N. C., OXFORD.

101

W.

The Last Farewell.

2TAY, little cheerful Robin, stay, And at my casement sing,

Although it should prove a farewell day,

And this our parting spring.

Though I alas! may ne'er enjoy
The promise in thy song,

A charm that thought cannot destroy
Doth to thy strain belong.

Methinks, that in my dying hour
Thy song would still be dear,
And with a more than earthly power
My passing spirit cheer.

Then, little bird, this boon confer:

Come, and my requiem sing;

Nor fail to be the harbinger

Of everlasting spring.

MRS. HUTCHINSON.