FRAGMENT.

'T was just a womanly presence,
An influence unexpressed,

But a rose she had worn, on my grave-sod
Were more than long life with the rest!

'T was a smile, 't was a garment's rustle,
'T was nothing that I can phrase,
But the whole dumb dwelling grew conscious,
And put on her looks and ways.

Were it mine I would close the shutters,
Like lids when the life is fled,

And the funeral fire should wind it,
This corpse of a home that is dead.

For it died that autumn morning

When she, its soul, was borne
To lie all dark on the hillside

That looks over woodland and corn.

JAMES R. Lowell.

Fragment.

'OLD in earth, and the deep snow piled above thee, Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave! Have I forgot, my only love, to love thee,

COLD

Severed at last by time's all severing wave?

Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains on that northern shore,
Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover
Thy noble heart forever, evermore?

Cold in the earth-and fifteen wild Decembers

From those brown hills have melted into spring;
Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers
After such years of change and suffering.

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Sweet love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee
While the world's tide is bearing me along;
Other desires and other hopes beset me,

Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong.

No later light has lightened up my heaven,
No second morn has ever shone for me;
All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given;
All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.

But when the days of golden dreams had perished,
And even despair was powerless to destroy;
Then did I learn existence could be cherished,
Strengthened and fed without the aid of joy.

Then did I check the tears of useless passion, Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine; Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten

Down to that tomb already more than mine.

And even yet I dare not let it languish,

Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain; Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, How could I seek the empty world again?

EMILY BRONTE.

An Evening Guest.

IF, in the silence of this lonely eve,

With the street-lamp pale flickering on the wall, An angel were to whisper me, "Believe

It shall be given thee.

Call!"—whom should I call '

And then I were to see thee gliding in,

Clad in known garments, that with empty fold Lie in my keeping, and my fingers, thin

As thine were once, to feel in thy safe hold:

THE PASSAGE.

I should fall weeping on thy neck, and say

"I have so suffered since-since."-But my tears Would stop, remembering how thou count'st thy day, A day that is with God a thousand years.

Then what are these sad days, months, years of mine,
To thine eternity of full delight?

What my whole life, when myriad lives divine
May wait, each leading to a higher height?

I lose myself I faint. Beloved, best,
Let me still dream thy dear humanity
Sits with me here, thy head upon my breast,
And then I will go back to heaven with thee.
DINAH MARIA MULOCK.

The Passage.

MANY a year is in its grave

Since I crossed this restless wave:
And the evening, fair as ever,
Shines on ruin, rock, and river.

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Lo, whene'er I turn mine eye
Back upon the days gone by,
Saddening thoughts of friends come o'er me,
Friends that closed their course before me.

But what binds us, friend to friend,
But that soul with soul can blend?
Soul-like were those hours of yore;
Let us walk in soul once more.

Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee,
Take, I give it willingly;

For invisible to thee,

Spirits twain have crossed with me.
LUDWIG UHLAND.

(Anonymous Translation.)

Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

Dowglas, Dowglas, tendir and treu."

COU

OULD ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, In the old likeness that I knew, I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

Never a scornful word should grieve ye,

I'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do:Sweet as your smile on me shone ever,

Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

O to call back the days that are not!

My eyes were blinded, your words were few;

Do you know the truth now up in heaven,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true?

I never was worthy of you, Douglas,
Not half worthy the like of you;

Now all men beside seem to me like shadows-
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.

Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas,
Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew,
As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

DINAH MARIA MULOCK.

Footsteps of Angels.
WHEN the hours of Day are numbered,

And the voices of the Night

Wake the better soul that slumbered
To a holy, calm delight—

Ere the evening lamps are lighted,

And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful fire-light

Dance upon the parlor wall

Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;

The beloved ones, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more!

He, the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife—
By the roadside fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life!

They, the holy ones and weakly,

Who the cross of suffering bore—
Folded their pale hands so meekly-
Spake with us on earth no more!

And with them the being beauteous
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.

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