This voice did on my spirit fall,
Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost:
""T is better to have fought and lost,
Than never to have fought at all."

WHERE LIES THE LAND.

Or shall he find before his term be sped
Some comelier maid that he shall wish to wed?
(Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La
Palie!)

For weary is work, and weary day by day
To have your comfort miles on miles away.
(Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La
Palie!)

WHERE lies the land to which the ship would go? Or may it be that I shall find my mate,

Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know;
And where the land she travels from? Away,
Far, far behind, is all that they can say.

On sunny noons upon the deck's smooth face,
Linked arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace!
Or, o'er the stern reclining, watch below
The foaming wake far widening as we go.
On stormy nights, when wild northwesters rave,
How proud a thing to fight with wind and wave!
The dripping sailor on the reeling mast
Exults to bear, and scorns to wish it past.

Where lies the land to which the ship would go?
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know;
And where the land she travels from? Away,
Far, far behind, is all that they can say.

VENIT HESPERUS.

THE skies have sunk, and hid the upper snow,
(Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La
Palie!)

The rainy clouds are filing fast below,
And wet will be the path, and wet shall we.
Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie!

Ah, dear! and where is he, a year agone,
Who stepped beside and cheered us on and on? -
My sweetheart wanders far away from me
In foreign land or on a foreign sea.
Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie!

The lightning zigzags shoot across the sky,
(Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La
Palie!)

And through the vale the rains go sweeping by;
Ah me! and when in shelter shall we be?
(Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La

Palie !)

And doth he e'er, I wonder, bring to mind
The pleasant huts and herds he left behind?

And doth he sometimes in his slumbering see
The feeding kine, and doth he think of me,
My sweetheart wandering wheresoe'er it be?
Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie!
The thunder bellows far from snow to snow,
(Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La
Palie!)

And loud and louder roars the flood below.
Heigh-ho! but soon in shelter shall we be:
Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie!

And he, returning, see himself too late?
For work we must, and what we see, we see,
And God he knows, and what must be, must be,
When sweethearts wander far away from me.
Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie!
The sky behind is brightening up anew,
(Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La
Palie!)

The rain is ending, and our journey too:
Heigh-ho! aha! for here at home are we :-
In, Rose, and in, Provence and La Palie!

FAITH.

O THоυ whose image in the shrine
Of human spirits dwells divine,
Which from that precinct once conveyed,
To be to outer day displayed,

Doth vanish, part, and leave behind
Mere blank and void of empty mind,
Which wilful fancy seeks in vain
With casual shapes to fill again!

O thou, that in our bosom's shrine
Dost dwell, unknown because divine!
I thought to speak, I thought to say,
"The light is here," "behold the way,"
"The voice was thus," and "thus the word,"
And "thus I saw," and "that I heard,”—
But from the lips that half essayed,
The imperfect utterance fell unmade.
O thou, in that mysterious shrine
Enthroned, as I must say, divine!
I will not frame one thought of what
Thou mayest either be or not.

I will not prate of "thus" and "so,"
And be profane with "yes" and "no;"
Enough that in our soul and heart
Thou, whatso'er thou mayest be, art.
Unseen, secure in that high shrine
Acknowledged present and divine,
I will not ask some upper air,
Some future day, to place thee there;
Nor say, nor yet deny, such men
And women saw thee thus and then;
Thy name was such, and there or here
To him or her thou didst appear.

Do only thou in that dim shrine,
Unknown or known, remain divine;
There, or if not, at least in eyes
That scan the fact that round them lies:
The hand to sway, the judgment guide,
In sight and sense thyself divide.
Be thou but there-in soul and heart,

I will not ask to feel thou art.

CHARLES KINGSLEY.

for Loose Thinkers," 1852; "Hypatia," a novel, 1853; "Alexandria and her Schools," 1854; "Sermons for the Times," 1854; "Westward Ho!" a novel, 1855; "Glaucus," a short treatise on marine zoology and botany, 1856; "The Heroes; or, Greek Fairy Tales," 1856; "Two Years ago,' a novel, 1856; "Good News of God," sermons, 1859; "Sir Walter Raleigh and his Times," 1859; "The Water Babies," a fairy story, 1863; "The Roman and the Teuton," lec

CHARLES KINGSLEY was born in Holne, Dev- | Saint's Tragedy," 1848; " Alton Locke," 1850; onshire, England, June 12, 1819. His father "Yeast," 1851; "Sermons on National Subwas vicar of Holne. He was graduated at Cam-jects," 1852; “Phaëton; or, Loose Thoughts bridge in 1842, and studied law for a while, but soon gave it up, and entered the church. He became curate of Eversley, Hampshire, and in 1844 was made rector. He accepted the chair of Modern History at Cambridge in 1859, and was made canon of Chester in 1869, and afterward canon of Westminster and chaplain to the Queen. He resigned his professorship in 1869, and in 1872 became editor of "Good Words." He visited the United States in 1873, travelled extensively, going as far as California, and lectures, 1864; "Hereward, the Last of the Engtured in the principal cities. He returned home in 1874, and died in London, January 23, 1875. Kingsley held a pretty high place as a poet, a still higher as a novelist, and the highest of all as a philanthropist and friend of the laboring classes. For their improvement he united with Rev. F. D. Maurice and others in establishing coöperative associations, and two of his best novels " Alton Locke, Tailor and Poet," and "Yeast: a Problem"-deal directly with the questions of labor and its compensation.

Mr. Kingsley's publications were as follows: "Twenty-five Village Sermons," 1844; "The

lish," 1866; "The Hermits," 1867; "How and Why," 1869; "At Last: a Christmas in the West Indies," 1871; "Plays and Puritans," 1873; "Prose Idyls," 1873; "Westminster Sermons," 1874; and "Health and Education," 1874.

The first collection of his poems was published in Boston, Mass., in 1856, and republished in London the next year; " Andromeda" was published in 1858. A complete edition of his poems appeared in London in 1872. His lectures in America, edited by his widow, were published in 1876.

ANDROMEDA.

OVER the sea, past Crete, on the Syrian shore to
the southward,

Dwells in the well-tilled lowland a dark-haired
Æthiop people,

Skilful with needle and loom, and the arts of the

dyer and carver,

Skilful, but feeble of heart; for they know not
the lords of Olympus,
Lovers of men; neither broad-browed Zeus, nor
Pallas Athené,

Teacher of wisdom to heroes, bestower of might
in the battle;

Share not the cunning of Hermes, nor list to the songs of Apollo.

Fearing the stars of the sky, and the roll of the
blue salt-water,

Fearing all things that have life in the womb of
the seas and the rivers,
Eating no fish to this day, nor ploughing the
main, like the Phonics,

Manful with black-beaked ships, they abide in a sorrowful region,

Vexed with the earthquake, and flame, and the
sea-floods, scourge of Poseidon."
Whelming the dwellings of men, and the toils
of the slow-footed oxen,

Drowning the barley and flax, and the hard-
earned gold of the harvest,
Up to the hillside vines, and the pastures skirt-
ing the woodland,

Inland the floods came yearly; and after the
waters a monster,

Bred of the slime, like the worms which are bred from the muds of the Nile-bank,

Shapeless, a terror to see; and by night it swam out to the seaward,

Daily returning to feed with the dawn, and devoured of the fairest,

Cattle, and children, and maids, till the terrified people fled inland.

Fasting in sackcloth and ashes they came, both the king and his people, Came to the mountain of oaks, to the house of the terrible sea-gods,