IN the soft, starless summer night
No murmur swims along the air,
Wrapped in her dim and dusky veil,
Earth seems to slumber everywhere.

All the still dews in hiding lie,

With unrobbed sweetness droops the rose, Nor up nor down the garden walks

A slight or stealthy zephyr blows. Darkness and hush, profoundest peace; The falling leaf forgets to float; When with one deep and mighty throb Along the headland strikes the rote!Strikes with the awful undertone

Of some great storm's tremendous blast, That far through white mid-seas ploughs on To scream around a broken mast!

But here the swell shall heave to shore
A muffled music, till it seems
The trouble of the sea become
Only the burden of a dream!

MAGDALEN.

IF any woman of us all,

If any woman of the street, Before the Lord should pause and fall, And with her long hair wipe his feet

He whom with yearning hearts we love, And fain would see with human eyes Around our living pathway move,

And underneath our daily skies— The Maker of the heavens and earth, The Lord of life, the Lord of death,

In whom the universe had birth,

But breathing of our breath one breath,

If any woman of the street

Should kneel, and with the lifted mesh Of her long tresses wipe his feet,

And with her kisses kiss their flesh

How round that woman would we throng,

How willingly would clasp her hands Fresh from that touch divine, and long

To gather up the twice-blest strands !

How eagerly with her would change
Our idle innocence, nor heed
Her shameful memories and strange,
Could we but also claim that deed!

A SIGH.

IT was nothing but a rose I gave her,
Nothing but a rose

Any wind might rob of half its savor,
Any wind that blows.

When she took it from my trembling fingers
With a hand as chill-

Ah, the flying touch upon them lingers,
Stays, and thrills them still!

Withered, faded, pressed between the pages,
Crumpled fold on fold-

Once it lay upon her breast, and ages
Cannot make it old!

ALIVE.

WHEN the wild- wake robin starts in the wood

At the joy of the earth who escapes her bars,

And the birches flutter in breezy mood, And the quick brooks run and sing in the

sun

To some strain of the song of the morning stars;

When the gay rhodoras throng the swamp, Like a settling cloud of winged things All a-quiver in purple pomp, And their green and gold the ferns unfold To the far-heard murmur of hastening springs;

When trillums nod, and the columbines Spread like flames through the forest gloom;

When in open field the white-weed shines, And the birds and bees in the apple-trees

Dart through skies of blue and of bloom;

When the whole bright orb is flashing along

With her cloudy gossamers round her curled,

A thing of blossom and leaf and songStill, I cry, is He far as the farthest star,

Or living and pulsing across His world?

A LULLABY.

HUSH, hush, my sweet;

Rest, rest thy tired feet;

Forget the storms and tears of thy brief hours;

There's naught shall thee distress,

Wrapt in sleep's blissfulness,

Crowned by a dream of flowers.

Hush, dearest, hush;

May no intruder brush

Will you, dear, in losing me,
Lose the bloom of sky and sea?

When the brown bees' busy hum
Does not reach me, cold and dumb;
When the scent of the wild rose
Breathes the sadness of repose,
Where no tender voice is heard,
Heart-sick sigh or whispered word;
When for me all seasons fail,
Will your love, sweet, still prevail?

May no unquiet fly

Go rudely buzzing by,

To snatch away thy bliss.

May dreams enchanted spread

A pillow for thy head,

And hang a curtain 'twixt thee and the sun; While smiles shall overflow

Thy rosy lips, as though

The angels' whispers were too sweet for

Where your love may seek intrusion, Than the summer's wasted sweetness, Barren of that love's completeness. Mouldering underneath the sod, Waiting on the will of God,

Heaven itself would yet seem near, Should you drop there, sweet, a tear!

TO-DAY.

TO-DAY the sunshine freely showers
Its benediction where we stand;
There's not a passing cloud that lower
Above this pleasant summer-land:
Then let's not waste the sweet to-day-
To-morrow, who can say?

Perhaps to-morrow we may be
(Alas! alas! the thought is pain!)
As far apart as sky and sea,

Sundered, to meet no more again : Then let us clasp thee, sweet to-dayTo-morrow, who can say ?

The daylight fades; a purple dream
Of twilight hovers overhead,
While all the trembling stars do seem
Like sad tears yet unshed:
Oh, sweet to-day, so soon away!
To-morrow, who can say ?

SONG.

SLIPPING, drifting with the tide,
All the summer twilight through,
While in heaven the stars abide,
In my heart sweet dreams of you.
Echoes following from the shore
Seem the chorus of our song,
Summer odors blown before
Float the tune along.

Shall we linger till the day
Paints the earth a thing divine?
Spread the sail and haste away

Where the distant breakers shine? Held within their fearful grasp, Would they crush us like a shell? Dying, dearest, in your clasp

All would yet be well!

TWO MOODS.

I PLUCKED the harebells as I went
Singing along the river-side;
The skies above were opulent
Of sunshine. "Ah! whate'er betide,
The world is sweet, is sweet," I cried,
That morning by the river-side.

The curlews called along the shore;
The boats put out from sandy beach;
Afar I heard the breakers' roar,
Mellowed to silver-sounding speech;
And still I sang it o'er and o'er,
"The world is sweet for evermore!"

Perhaps, to-day, some other one,
Loitering along the river-side,
Content beneath the gracious sun,
May sing, again, " Whate'er betide,

The world is sweet." I shall not chide,
Although my song is done.

ASLEEP.

SOUND asleep: no sigh can reach
Him who dreams the heavenly dream;
No to-morrow's silver speech

Wake him with an earthly theme.
Summer rains relentlessly

Patter where his head doth lie;
There the wild fern and the brake
All their summer leisure take.
Violets blinded with the dew,
Perfume lend to the sad rue,
Till the day breaks, fair and clear,
And no shadow doth appear.

THE BROOK.

"O I am tired!" said the brook, complain ing,

"I fain would stop a little while to rest; The clouds would weary were they always raining;

The bird, if she forever built her nest! "The stars withdraw from heaven and cease their shining,

The sun himself drops down into the west. I fain would stop," the brook kept on repir ing,

"And catch my breath, and be an instam blessed.

"All day a voice calls, 'Follow, dearest, follow,'

And toiling on, I seek to reach the goal, Nor pause to list to yonder happy swallow, Telling in song the secret of his soul."

"O foolish brook!" the wind blew in replying,

"Am I not always with you on the wing? Cease your fond mourning, cease your weary sighing,

And thank your stars for such companioning !"

The sun came up across the silver dawning,

And hung a golden flame against the sky; He dallied not to drink the dews of morning, And when the night fell; lo! the brook was dry!

At rest! at rest! no more of toil unceasing: No watering of the roots of shrub or tree; No hoarding from the rain, nor still increas ing,

To lose itself, at last, within the sea!