EARLY

POEMS.

Reprinted from "Trefoil."

HERE WE LEFT OFF.

It was here we stopped, and here is the mark
You placed in the book when the room grew dark;
Seven years ago, and still it is here:

We never have finished that poem, dear.

You promised me then, when I went away,
You would finish it to me another day;
But I think you forgot it with all the rest—
That I had forgotten it too were best.

You had read my story of life in part,

And you placed your mark in my quiet heart; 'I can finish it by-and-by,' you said,

And my heart and the poem are still unread.

QUIET.

When the world is hot and dusty,
On the fiercest summer day;
When the autumn fogs are rising,
And my life is cold and grey;
I will think of a quiet evening,
In a far-off month of May.

I will live it again in dreaming,
And this shall my dreaming be,
A rock, and a lazy murmur

From a slowly rippling sea;
A gleam on a white-sailed vessel,
And a voice that speaks to me.

And the spell of that quiet evening Will come from the far-off years, Will come in its beauty and stillness, To comfort my falling tears;

For I hold that the Past is dearer

Than a Future of hopes and fears.

The Past will be mine for ever,
Let the Future be what it may,
I will guard it as sacred treasure,
Which no one can take away;
The voice and the rippling murmur,
And the rock in the quiet bay.

LOVE AT FORTY.

I have loved you, little Minnie, loved you long and well, More than you ever dreamed of, more than I care to tell; Since the day when first I met you at the party in the

glen ;

And the joy had never faded which broke in upon me then.

Never faded till this morning!-and now is vanished all; For I heard what you were saying to my brother in the

hall.

'Tis well that I know it, Minnie; would I had known it before;

I could have spared you much of pain, and left my heart less sore.

I might have known it truly, but I was too blind to see. How could I dream that knowing George, you still would care for me?

He is so young and so merry, I am so old and grave;
I was young in one thing, Minnie, young in the love I

gave.

I could have made you happy, at least I had fancied so. But no! you have never loved me it is well I should

let you go.

Give me back the ring that I gave you; here is your lock of hair:

I have kept it near my heart, and now perhaps George will keep it there.