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And the great sky, the royal heaven | There came no murmur from the streams, above,

Though nigh flowed Leither, Tweed, Darkens with storms or melts in hues and Quair.

of love;
While far remote,

The days hold on their wonted pace, Just where the sunlight smites the

And men to court and camp repair, woods with fire,

Their part to fill, of good or ill, Wakens the, multitudinous sylvan

While women keep the House of Quair, choir;

And one is clad in widow's weeds,
Their innocent love's desire

And one is maiden-like and fair,
Poured in a rill of song from each har-

And day by day they seek the paths monious throat.

About the lonely fields of Quair. My walls are crumbling, but immortal

To see the trout leap in the streams, looks Smile on me here from faces of rare The maiden loves in pensive dreams

The summer clouds reflected there, books:

To hang o'er silver Tweed and Quair. Shakespeare consoles My heart with true philosophies; a balm Within, in pall-black velvet clad, Of spiritual dews from humbler song

Sits stately in her oaken chair-
or psalm

A stately dame of ancient name
Fills me with tender calm,

The mother of the House of Quair. Or through hushed heavens of soul Milton's deep thunder rolls!

Her daughter broiders by her side, And more than all, o'er shattered and listens to her frequent plaint, -

With heavy drooping golden hair, wrecks of Fate,

“Ill fare the brides that come to Quail. The relics of a happier time and state, My nobler life

“For more than one hath lived in pine, Shines on unquenched ! O deathless And more than one hath died of care love that lies

And more than one hath sorely sinned, In the clear midnight of those passion- Left lonely in the House of Quair.

ate eyes!

Joy waneth! Fortune flies ! “Alas! and ere thy father died What then? Thou still art here, soul of I had not in his heart a share, my soul, my Wife!

And now- —may God forfend her ill

Thy brother brings his bride to Quair." She came; they kissed her in the hall,

They kissed her on the winding stair,

They led her to the chamber high,
ISA CRAIG KNOX.

The fairest in the House of Quair.

They bade her from the window look, BALLAD OF THE BRIDES OF QUAIR. And mark the scene how passing fair,

Among whose ways the quiet days A STILLNESS crept about the house, Would linger o'er the wife of Quair.

At evenfall, in noontide glare; Upon the silent hills looked forth “'T is fair,” she said on looking forth, The many-windowed House of Quair. “But what although 't were bleak and

bareThe peacock on the terrace screamed; She looked the love she did not speak,

Browsed on the lawn the timid hare; And broke the ancient curse of Quair. The great trees grew i' the avenue, Calm by the sheltered House of Quair. “Where'er he dwells, where'er he goes,

His dangers and his toils I share. The pool was still ; around its brim What need be said, she was not one The alders sickened all the air;

Of the ill-fated brides of Quair.

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SPRING, with that nameless pathos in the At times a fragrant breeze comes floating air

by, Which dwells with all things fair,

And brings, you know not why, Spring, with her golden suns and silver A feeling as when eager crowds await rain,

Before a palace gate Is with us once again.

Some wondrous pageant; and you scarce

would start, Out in the lonely woods the jasmine burns If from a beech's heart, Its fragrant lamps, and turns

A blue-eyed Dryad, stepping forth, should Into a royal court with green festoons The banks of dark lagoons.

“Behold me! I am May!”

say,

we find

In the deep heart of every forest tree
The blood is all aglee,
And there's a look about the leafless
bowers

WALTER F. MITCHELL.
As if they dreamed of flowers.

[U. S. A.] Yet still on every side we trace the hand Of Winter in the land,

TACKING SHIP OFF SHORE. Save where the maple reddens on the lawn,

THE weather-leech of the topsail shivers, Flushed by the season's dawn;

The bow-lines strain, and the lee-shrouds

slacken, Or where, like those strange semblances The braces are taut, the lithe boom quivers,

And the waves with the coming squall

cloud blacken. That age to childhood bind, The elm puts on, as if in Nature's scorn, Open one point on the weather bow, The brown of autumn corn.

Is the lighthouse tall on Fire Island

Head? As yet the turf is dark, although you There's a shade of doubt on the captain's know

brow, That, not a span below,

And the pilot watches the heaving lead. A thousand germs are groping through the gloom,

I stand at the wheel, and with eager eye. And soon will burst their tomb.

To sea and to sky and to shore I gaze,

Till the muttered order of “Full and by!": In gardens you may note amid the dearth, Is suddenly changed forFull for stays!The crocus breaking earth; And near the snowdrop's tender white The ship bends lower before the breeze,

As her broadside fair to the blast shelays, The violet in its screen.

And she swifter springs to the rising seas,

As the pilot calls, “ Stand by for stays!" But many gleams and shadows need must pass

It is silence all, as each in his place, Along the budding grass,

With the gathered coil in his hardened And weeks go by, before the enamored hands, South

By tack and bowline, by sheet and brace, Shall kiss the rose's mouth.

Waiting the watchword impatient stands.

and green,

And the light on Fire Island Head draws What matters the reef, or the rain, or the near,

squall? As, trumpet-winged, the pilot's shout I steady the helm for the open sea; From his post on the bowsprit's heel I The first mate clamors, “Belay there, hear,

all !” With the welcome call of, Ready! And the captain's breath once more comes About!

free.

HEREAFTER.

And so off shore let the good ship fly; No time to spare! It is touch and go; And the captain growls, “Down, helm ! In my fo'castle bunk, in a jacket dry,

, hard down!” As my weight on the whirling spokes I Eight bells have struck, and my watch is

below. throw, While heaven grows black with the stormcloud's frown.

HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD. High o'er the knight-headsflies the spray, As we meet the shock of the plunging

[U. S. A.] sea; And my shoulder stiff to the wheel I lay, As I answer, Ay, ay, sir! Ha-a-rd a lee!

LOVE, when all these years are silent,

vanished quite and laid to rest, With the swerving leap of a startled steed When you and I are sleeping, folded The ship flies fast in the eye of the wind, breathless breast to breast, The dangerous shoals on the lee recede, When no morrow is before us, and the And the headland white we have left

long grass tosses o'er us, behind.

And our grave remains forgotten, or by

alien footsteps pressed, The topsails flutter, the jibs collapse, And belly and tug at the groaning cleats; Still that love of ours will linger, that The spanker slats, and the mainsail flaps ; great love enrich the earth,

breezes And thunders the order, Tacks and Sunshine in the 'heavenly azure, sheets!"

blowing joyous mirth;

Fragrance fanning off from flowers, Mid the rattle of blocks and the tramp Sparkle of the spicy wood-fires round the

melody of summer showers, Hisses the rain of the rushing squall:

happy autuinn hearth. The sails are aback from clew to clew,

That's our love. And now is the moment for, “Mainsail,

But you and I, dear, haul !”

-shall we linger with it yet, Mingled in one dewdrop, tangled in one

sunbeam's golden net, And the heavy yards, like a baby's toy, On the violet's purple bosom, I the By fifty strong arms are swiftly swung : sheen, but you the blossom, She holds her way, and I look with joy

Stream on sunset winds and be the haze For the first white spray o'er the bulwarks with which some hill is wet? flung.

Or, beloved, -if ascending, -- when we Let go, and haul !'Tis the last com

have endowed the world mand,

With the best bloom of our being, whither And the head-sails fill to the blast once will our way be whirled, more;

Through what vast and starry spaces, Astern and to leeward lies the land,

toward what awful holy places, With its breakers white on the shingly With a white light on our faces, spirit shore.

over spirit furled ?

of the crew,

WILLIAM WINTER.

JOAQUIN MILLER.

313

Only this our yearning answers, -where- Come with a smile, auspicious friend, so'er that way defile,

To usher in the eternal day! Not a film shall part us through the æons Of these weak terrors make an end, of that mighty while,

And charm the paltry chains away In the fair eternal weather, even as That bind me to this timorous clay!

phantoms still together, Floating, floating, one forever, in the And let me know my soul akin light of God's great smile!

To sunrise and the winds of morn,
And every grandeur that has been

Since this all-glorious world was born,
Nor longer droop in my own scorn.

SONG.

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AZRAEL.

red,

SUCCESS had made him more than king;
WILLIAM WINTER.

Defeat made him the vilest thing
In name, contempt or hate can bring:

So much the loaded dice of war
[U. S. A.]

Do make or mar of character.
Speak ill who will of him, he died

In all disgrace; say of the dead COMEwith a smile, when come thou must, His heart was black, his hands were

Evangel of the world to be, And touch and glorify this dust,

Say this much, and be satisfied. This shuddering dust that nowis me, And from this prison set me free! I lay this crude wreath on his dust,

Inwove with sad, sweet memories Long in those awful eyes I quail, Recalled here by these colder seas.

That gaze across the grim profound : I leave the wild bird with his trust, Upon that sea there is no sail,

To sing and say him nothing wrong; Nor any light, nor any sound,

I wake no rivalry of song. From the far shore that girds it round.

He lies low in the levelled sand, Only-two still and steady rays,

Unsheltered from the tropic sun, That those twin orbs of doom o’ertop; And now of all he knew, not one Only—a quiet, patient gaze

Will speak him fair, in that far land. That drinks my being, drop by drop, Perhaps 't was this that made me seek, And bids the pulse of nature stop. Disguised, his grave one winter-tide;

A weakness for the weaker side,
A siding with the helpless weak.

Brave old water-dogs, wed to the sea,
First to their labors and last to their rests.

A palm not far held out a hand;

Ships are moving! I hear a horn; Hard by a long green bamboo swung, A silver trumpet it sounds to me, And bent like some great bow unstrung, Deep-voiced and musical, far a-sea . . . And quivered like a willow wand; Answers back, and again it calls. Beneath a broad banana's leaf,

'T is the sentinel boats that watch the towrı Perched on its fruits that crooked hung, All night, as mounting her watery walls, A bird in rainbow splendor sung And watching for pirate or smuggler. A low, sad song of tempered grief.

Down

Over the sea, and reaching away, No sod, no sign, no cross nor stone, And against the east, a soft light falls, – But at his side a cactus green

Silvery soft as the mist of morn, Upheld its lances long and keen; And I catch a breath like the breath of It stood in hot red sands alone,

day. Flat-palmed and fierce with lifted spears ; One bloom of crimson crowned its head, The east is blossoming! Yea, a rose, A drop of blood, so bright, so red, Vast as the heavens, soft as a kiss, Yet redolent as roses' tears.

Sweet as the presence of woman is, In my left hand I held a shell,

Rises and reaches and widens and grows All rosy lipped and pearly red;

Right out of the sea, as a blossoming tree; I laid it by his lowly bed,

Richer and richer, so higher and higher, For he did love so passing well

Deeper and deeper it takes its hue; The grand songs of the solemn sea. Brighter and brighter it reaches through O shell ! sing well, wild, with a will, The space of heaven and the place of stars, When storms blow hard and birds be still, Till all is as rich as a rose can be, The wildest sea-song known to thee! Andmy rose-leaves fall into billows of fire.

Then beams reach upward as arms from I said some things, with folded hands,

a sea; Soft whispered in the dim sea-sound, Then lances and arrows are aimed at me. And eyes held humbly to the ground, Then lances and spangles and spars and And frail knees sunken in the sands.

bars He had done more than this for me, Are broken and shivered and strown on And yet I could not well do more: I turned me down the olive shore, And around and about me tower and spire And set a sad face to the sea.

Start from the billows like tongues of fire.

the sea;

SUNRISE IN VENICE.
NIGÆT seems troubled and scarce asleep;

UNKNOWN.
Her brows are gathered in broken rest;
Sullen old lion of dark St. Mark,

DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW.
And a star in the east starts up from the
deep;

SAITH the white owl to the martin folk, White as my lilies that grow in the west. In the belfry tower so grim and gray: Hist! men are passing hurriedly. “Why do they deafen us with these bells ? I see the yellow wide wings of a bark Is any one dead or born to-day?" Sail silently over my morning-star. I see men move in the moving dark, A martin peeped over the rim of its nest, Tall and silent as columns are,

And answered crossly: “Why, ain't Great sinewy men that are good to see, With hair pushed back and with open That an heir is coming to the great breasts;

estate?” Barefooted fishermen seeking their boats, “I ’ave n’t,” the owl said, "pon my Brown as walnuts and hairy as goats,

word.

you heard

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