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AN HOUR OF ROMANCE.
THERE were thick leaves above me and around,
As of soft showers on water-dark and deep
A tale of Palestine.*-Meanwhile the bee
The Talisman-Tales of the Crusaders.
A drowsy bugle, wafting thoughts of flowers,
Shot glancing like a fairy javelin by;
And a sweet voice of sorrow told the dell
But ere long,
All sense of these things faded, as the spell, Breathing from that high gorgeous tale, grew strong On my chain'd soul-'twas not the leaves I heard ; -A Syrian wind the lion-banner stirr'd,
Through its proud floating folds-'twas not the brook, Singing in secret through its grassy glen
A wild shrill trumpet of the Saracen
Peal'd from the desert's lonely heart, and shook
The burning air.—Like clouds when winds are high,
O'er glittering sands flew steeds of Araby,
And tents rose up, and sudden lance and spear Flash'd where a fountain's diamond wave lay clear, Shadow'd by graceful palm-trees.-Then the shout Of merry England's joy swell'd freely out,
Sent through an Eastern heaven, whose glorious hue Made shields dark mirrors to its depths of blue;
And harps were there-I heard their sounding strings, As the waste echoed to the mirth of kings.
The bright masque faded-unto life's worn track
EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRLS' SCHOOL.
"Now in thy youth, beseech of Him,
Who giveth, upbraiding not,
That his light in thy heart become not dim,
And his love be unforgot;
And thy God, in the darkest of days, will be
HUSH! 'tis a holy hour-the quiet room
Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds A faint and starry radiance, through the gloom
And the sweet stillness, down on bright young heads,
With all their clust'ring locks, untouch'd by care,
Gaze on,-'tis lovely!-childhood's lip and cheek,
And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought?
EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRLS' SCHOOL. 147
-Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky,
Oh! joyous creatures, that will sink to rest,
'Midst the dim folded leaves, at set of sunLift up your hearts!—though yet no sorrow lies Dark in the summer-heaven of those clear eyes;
Though fresh within your breasts th' untroubled springs
And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wings
Her lot is on you-silent tears to weep,
And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour, And sumless riches, from Affection's deep,
To pour on broken reeds-a wasted shower!
And to make idols, and to find then clay,