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ANNA BOYNTON AVERILL.

315

“Are men born so, with that white cock

ANNA BOYNTON AVERILL. ade?Said the little field-mouse to the old

[U. S. A.) brown rat. “Why, you silly child,” the sage replied,

BIRCH STREAM. “This is the bridegroom, — they know him by that."

At noon, within the dusty town,

Where the wild river rushes down, Saith the snail so snugin his dappled shell,

And thunders hoarsely all day long, Slowly stretching one cautious horn,

I think of thee, my hermit stream,
As the beetle was hurrying by so brisk,
Much to his snailship’s inward scorn:

Low singing in thy summer dream,

Thine idle, sweet, old, tranquil song. “Why does that creature ride by so fast? Has a fire broke out to the east or Northward, Katahdin's chasmed pile west?"

Looms through thy low, long, leafy aisle, Your Grace, he rides to the wedding- Eastward, Olarnon's summit shines ; feast,

And I upon thy grassy shore, “Let the madman go. What I want's The dreamful, happy child of yore, rest."

Worship before mine olden shrines. The swallows around the woodman skimmed,

Again the sultry noontide hush Poising and turning on flashing wing; Is sweetly broken by the thrush, One said: “How liveth thislumpof earth?

Whose clear bell rings and dies away In the air, he can neither soarnorspring Beside thy banks, in coverts deep,

Where nodding buds of orchis sleep “Over the meadows we sweep and dart,

In dusk, and dream not it is day. Down with the flowers, or up in the skies;

Again the wild cow-lily floats While these poor lum berers toil and slave, Her golden-freighted, tented boats, Half starved, for how can they catch

In thy cool coves of softened gloom, their flies?

O'ershadowed by the whispering reed,

And purple plumes of pickerel-weed, Quoth the dry-rot worm to his artisans

And meadow-sweet in tangled bloom. In the carpenter's shop, as they bored

away: “Hark to the sound of the saw and file! The startled minnows dart in flocks What are these creatures at work at, - Beneath thy glimmering amber rocks,

If but a zephyr stirs the brake;

The silent swallow swoops, a flash From his covered passage a worm looked Of light, and leaves, with dainty plash, out,

A ring of ripples in her wake. And eyed the beings so busy o'erhead: I scarcely know, my lord; but I think

Without, the land is hot and dim; They 're making a box to bury their

The level fields in languor swim, dead!”

Their stubble-grasses brown as dust;

And all along the upland lanes, Says a butterfly with his wings of blue

Where shadeless noon oppressive reigns, All in a flutter of careless joy,

Dead roses wear their crowns of rust. As he talks to a dragon-fly over a flower: Ours is a life, sir, with no alloy.

Within, is neither blight nor death, “What are those black things, row and The fierce sun woos with ardent breath,

But cannot win thy sylvan heart. Winding along by the new-mown hay?" Only the child who loves thee long, “That is a funeral,” says the fly : With faithful worship pure and strong,

“The carpenter buries his son to-day." Can know how dear and sweet thou art.

say?”

row,

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DRIVING HOME THE COWS.

Loosely swung in the idle air

The empty sleeve of army blue; Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass

And worn and pale, from the crisping He turned them into the river lane;

hair, One after another he let them pass,

Looked out a face that the father knew. Then fastened the meadow bars again. Under the willows, and over the hill, For Southern prisons will sometimes He patiently followed their sober pace;

yawn, The merry whistle for once was still, And yield their dead unto life again : And something shadowed the sunny And the day that comes with a cloudy face.

dawn

In golden glory at last may wane. Only a boy! and his father had said He never could let his youngest go:

The great tears sprang to their meeting Two already were lying dead,

eyes; Under the feet of the trampling foe.

For the heart must speak when the

lips are dumb: But after the evening work was done,

And under the silent evening skies And the frogs were loud in the mead

Together they followed the cattle home. OW-swamp, Over his shoulder he slung his gun, And stealthily followed the footpath

damp.
Across the clover, and through the wheat,

LIZZIE G. PARKER.
With resolute heart and purpose grim,
Though cold was the dew on his hurry-

[U. S. A.]
ing feet,

WAITING. And the blind bat’s flitting startled him.

For a foot that will not come, Thrice since then had the lanes been white, For a song that will not sound, And the orchards sweet with apple

I hearken, wait and moan alway, bloom;

And weary months go round. And now, when the cows came back at night,

Never again in the world The feeble father drove them home.

Shall that lost footstep be;

Nor sea, nor bird, nor reedy wind
For news had come to the lonely farm Can match that song to me.
That three were lying where two had
lain;

But in the chants of heaven,
And the old man's tremulous, palsied And down the golden street,

My heart shall single out that song Could never lean on a son's again.

And know that touch of feet.

arm

317

EDWIN ARNOLD.

He and she ; still she did not move
To any one passionate whisper of love.

EDWIN ARNOLD.

" HE AND SHE."

Then he said : “ Cold lips and breasts

without breath, “She is dead!” they said to him. Is there no voice, no language of death? ?

" Come away; Kiss her and leave her, thy love is clay!” “Dumb to the ear and still to the sense,

But to heart and to soul distinct, intense? They smoothed her tresses of dark brown hair;

See now; I will listen with soul, not ear; On her forehead of stone they laid it fair; What was the secret of dying, dear?

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Over her eyes that gazed too much
They drew the lids with a gentle touch;

" Was it the infinite wonder of all
That you ever could let life's flower fall?

up

well With a tender touch they closed The sweet thin lips that had secrets to

“Or was it a greater marvel to feel The perfect calm o'er the agony steal ?

tell;

About her brows and beautiful face ‘Was the miracle greater tofind how deep They tied her veil and her marriage lace, Beyond all dreams sank downward that

sleep? And drew on her white feet her white silk shoes

“Did life roll back its records, dear, Which were the whitest no eye could And show, as they say it does, past choose

things clear? And over her bosom they crossed her

“And was it the innermost heart of the hands.

bliss “Come away!” they said ; “God under- To find out so, what a wisdom love is ?

stands.” And there was silence, and nothing there

O perfect dead ! O dead most dear, But silence, and scents of egľantere,

I hold the breath of my soul to hear ! And jasmine, and roses, and rosemary; “1 listen as deep as to horrible hell, And they said, ,

“ As a lady should lie, As high as to heaven, and you do not tell. lies she.”

" There must be pleasure in dying, sweet, And they held their breath till they left To make you so placid from head to feet! With a shudder, to glance at its still-“I would tell you, darling, if I were dead, ness and gloom.

And 't were your hot tears upon my brow But he who loved her too well to dread The sweet, the stately, the beautiful “ I would say, though the Angel of Death dead,

had laid He lit his lamp and took the key

His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid. And turned it,--alone again, he and she. You should not askvainly, with streamHe and she; but she would not speak,

ing eyes, Though he kissed, in the old place, the Which of all deaths was the chiefest surquiet cheek.

prise, He and she; yet she would not sinile, The very strangest and suddenest thing Though he called her the name she loved Of all the surprises that dying must erewhile.

bring."

the room,

shed;

old way:

Ah, foolish world! O most kind dead ! That treasure of his treasury, Though he told me, who will believe it A mind that loved him; let it lie! was said?

Let the shard be earth's once more,

Since the gold shines in his store !
Who will believe that he beard her say,
With the sweet, soft voice, in the dear Allah glorious! Allah good !

Now thy world is understood;

Now the long, long wonder ends; "The utmost wonder is this, - I hear

Yet ye weep, my erring friends, And see you, and love you, and kiss While the man whom ye call dead, you, dear;

In unspoken bliss, instead,

Lives and loves you ; lost, 't is true, “ And am your angel, who was your But in the light ye cannot see

By such light as shines for you;
bride,
And know that, though dead, I have Of unfulfilled felicity,
never died."

In enlarging paradise,
Lives a life that never dies.

AFTER DEATH IN ARABIA.

HE who died at Azan sends
This to comfort all his friends:

Farewell, friends! Yet not farewell;
Where I am, ye, too, shall dwell.
I am gone before your face,
A moment's time, a little space.
When ye come where I have stepped,
Ye will wonder why ye wept;
Ye will know, by wise love taught,
That here is all, and there is naught.
Weep awhile, if ye are fain,
Sunshine still must follow rain;
Only not at death, for death,
Now I know, is that first breath
Which our souls draw when we enter
Life, which is of all life centre.

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Be ye certain all seems love, ,
Viewed from Allah's throne above;
Be ye stout of heart, and come
Bravely onward to your home!
La Allah illa Allah! yea!
Thou love divine! Thou love alway!

Sweet friends! What the women lave,
For its last bed of the grave,
Is but a hut which I am quitting,
Is a garment no more fitting,
Is a cage from which, at last,
Like a hawk my soul hath passed.
Love the inmate, not the room,
The wearer, not the garb, the plume
Of the falcon, not the bars
Which kept him from those splendid

He that died at Azan gave
This to those who made his grave.

stars.

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They say that the sculptor wrought from Some craving for an unknown good, the face

That in the spirit fluttered, Of his youth's lost love, of his promised bride,

Our footsteps sought the humble house And when he had added the last sad Unmarked by cross or towering steeple, grace

Where for their First-day gathering came To the features, he dropped his chisel God's plain and simple people? and died.

The air was soft, the sky was large, And the worshippers throng to the shrine The

grass as

gay

with golden Howers below,

As if the last night's sky had fallen And the sight-seers come with their On earth in starry showers.

curious eyes,

may know

the space

But deep in the shadow, where none And, as we walked, the apple-trees

Shed their late bloom for every comer; Its beauty, the gem of his carving lies. Our souls drank deep of joy and peace,

For it was youth and sunimer. Yet at early morn on a midsummer's day,

Yet through the doorway, rude and low, When the sun is far to the north, for The plain-robed folk we followed after,

Our steps, like theirs, demure and slow, Of a few short minutes, there falls a ray Our lips as free from laughter. Through an amber pane on the angel's face.

We sat apart, but still were near

As souls may draw unto each other It was wrought for the eye of God, and Who seek through stronger love to God it seems

A nobler love to brother. That he blesses the work of the dead man's hand

How deep the common silence was; With a ray of the golden light that How pure and sweet those woman faces, streams

Which patience, gentleness, and peace Or the lost that are found in the Had stamped with heavenly graces. deathless land.

Nonoise of prayer came through the hush,
No praise sang through the portals

lowly,
HARRIET 0. NELSON.

Save merry bird-songs from without,

And even those seemed holy. [U. S. A.]

Then daily toil was glorified,

And love was something rarer, finer; THE QUIET MEETING.

The whole earth, sanctified througk DEAR friend of old, whom memory links

Christ,
With sunny hour and summer weather, And human life, diviner.
Do you with me remember yet
That Sabbath morn together,

And when at length, by lips of age,

The silent hour was fitly broken, When straying from our wonted ways,

Our hearts found echo in the words and song and priestly From wise experience spoken. teacher, Those kind, sweet helps by which the Then at the elder's clasp of hand Lord

We rose and met beneath the portal; Stoops to his yearning creature, Some earthly dust our lives had lost,

And something gained immortal. And led by some faint sense of need Which each in each perceived unut. Since then, when sermon, psalm, and rite, tered,

And solemn organ's tuneful pealing,

From prayer

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