And hover round it murmuring Like bees at honey-time.

Upon a little girl I look

Whose pureness makes me sad; I read as in a holy book, I grow in secret glad. It seems my darling comes to me With something I have lost Over life's toss'd and troubled sea, On some celestial coast.

I think of her when spirit-bow'd ;
A glory fills the place!
Like sudden light on swords, the proud
Smile flashes in my face:
And others see, in passing by,

But cannot understand
The vision shining in mine eye,

My strength of heart and hand.

That grave content and touching grace
Bring tears into mine eyes;
She makes my heart a holy place
Where hymns and incense rise.
Such calm her gentle spirit brings
As, smiling overhead,
White-statued saints with peaceful wings
Shadow the sleeping dead.

Our Christie is no rosy Grace

With beauty all may see,
But I have never felt a face

Grow half so dear to me.
No curling hair about her brows,
Like many merry girls ;
Well, straighter to my heart it goes,
And round it curls and curls.

Meek as the wood anemone glints
To see if heaven be blue,

Is my pale flower with her sweet tints
Of heaven shining through.

"Gods! what a portion to forerun this Soul !"

He grasp'd my hand, — I look'd upon his face,

A thought struck all the blood into his cheeks,

Like a strong buffet. His great flashing eyes

Burn'd on mine own. He said, "A grim old king,

Whose blood leap'd madly when the trumpets bray'd

To joyous battle 'mid a storm of steeds,
Won a rich kingdom on a battle-day;
But in the sunset he was ebbing fast,
Ring'd by his weeping lords. His left
hand held

His white steed, to the belly splash'd with blood,

That seem'd to mourn him with its drooping head;

His right, his broken brand; and in his

Is toying with the shore, his wedded bride,
And, in the fulness of his marriage joy,
He decorates her tawny brow with shells,
Retires a space, to see how fair she looks,
Then proud, runs up to kiss her. All is
fair

All glad, from grass to sun! Yet more I love

Than this, the shrinking day that sometimes comes

In Winter's front, so fair 'mong its dark peers,

It seems a straggler from the files of June,
Which in its wanderings had lost its wits,
And half its beauty; and, when it return'd,
Finding its old companions gone away,
It join'd November's troop, then marching
past;

And so the frail thing comes, and greets the world

With a thin crazy smile, then bursts in

tears,

And all the while it holds within its hand A few half-wither'd flowers. I love and pity it!

BEAUTY

BEAUTY still walketh on the earth and air, Our present sunsets are as rich in gold As ere the Iliad's music was out-roll'd; The roses of the Spring are ever fair, 'Mong branches green still ring-doves coo and pair,

And the deep sea still foams its music old. So, if we are at all divinely soul'd,

This beauty will unloose our bonds of care. 'Tis pleasant, when blue skies are o'er us bending

Within old starry-gated Poesy,

To meet a soul set to no worldly tune, Like thine, sweet Friend! Oh, dearer this to me

Than are the dewy trees, the sun, the moon, Or noble music with a golden ending.

ΤΟ

THE broken moon lay in the autumn sky,
And I lay at thy feet;

You bent above me; in the silence I
Could hear my wild heart beat.

I spoke; my soul was full of trembling fears At what my words would bring :

You rais'd your face, your eyes were full of tears,

As the sweet eyes of Spring.

You kiss'd me then, I worshipp'd at thy feet

Upon the shadowy sod.

Oh, fool, I lov'd thee! lov'd thee, lovely cheat!

Better than Fame or God.

AT HOME IN HEAVEN

"FOREVER with the Lord!"
Amen, so let it be ;

Life from the dead is in that word, "T is immortality.

Here in the body pent,

Absent from him I roam,

Yet nightly pitch my moving tent A day's march nearer home.