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Till of thy countenance the alluring | My lowly love, that soaring seeks to terror

climb In majesty from out the blossoms smiled, Within his thought, and make a gentle From out their life seeming a beauteous

bliss, Death.

More blissful than if mine, in being his:

So shall I live in him and rest in Death. Love, who so didst choose me for

thine own,

Taking this little isle to thy great sway,
See now, it is the honor of thy throne
That what thou gavest perish not away,
Nor leave some sweet remembrance to

atone
By life that will be for the brief life

gone: Hear, ere the shroud o'er these frail

limbs be thrown Since every king is vassal unto thee, My heart's lord needs must listen

loyally O tell him I am waiting for my Death!

TWO LOVERS.
Two lovers by a moss-grown spring:
They leaned soft cheeks together

there,
Mingled the dark and sunny hair,
And heard the wooing thrushes sing.

O budding time!
O love's blest prime!

Tell him, for that he hath such royal

power 'Twere hard for him to think how small

a thing, How slight a sign, would make a wealthy

dower For one like me, the bride of that pale

king
Whose bed is mine at some swift-near-

ing hour.
Go to my lord, and to his memory bring
That happy birthday of my sorrowing
When his large glance made meaner

gazers glad,
Entering the bannered lists: 'twas then

I had
The wound that laid me in the arms of

Death.

Two wedded from the portal stept:

The bells made happy carollings,

The air was soft as fanning wings, White petals on the pathway slept.

O pure-eyed bride!

O tender pride!
Two faces o'er a cradle bent :
Two hands above the head were

locked;
These pressed each other while they

rocked, Those watched a life that love had sent.

( solemn hour! O hidden power!

Two parents by the evening fire:

The red light fell about their knees

On heads that rose by slow degrees
Like buds upon the lily spire.

O patient life!
O tender strife!

Tell him, O Love, I am a lowly maid,
No more than any little knot of thyme
That he with careless foot may often

tread;
Yet lowest fragrance oft will mount sub-

lime And cleave to things most high and hal

lowed, As doth the fragrance of my life's

springtime,

The two still sat together there,

The red light shone about their knees;

But all the heads by slow degrees Had gone and lest that lonely pair.

O voyage fast!

O vanished past! The red light shone upon the floor And made the space between them

wide;

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THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTOR, LENOX ANO
TYDEA FOUNDATIONS

They drew their chairs up side by Its discords, quenched by meeting harside,

monies, Their palé cheeks joined, and said, Die in the large and charitable air. i Once more !"

And all our rarer, better, truer self, O memories!

That sobbed religiously in yearning O past that is !

song, That watched to ease the burden of the

world, Laboriously tracing what must be, And what may yet be better — saw

within O MAY I JOIN THE CHOIR INVISIBLE."

A worthier image for the sanctuary,

And shaped it forth before the multiO MAY I join the choir invisible

tude Of those immortal dead who live again

Divinely human, raising worship so In minds made better by their presence: To higher reverence more mixed with live

loveIn pulses stirred to generosity,

That better self shall live till numan In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn

Time For miserable aims that end with self,

Shall fold its eyelids, and the human In thoughts sublime that pierce the

sky night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge

Be gathered like a scroll within the

tomb man's search

Unread for ever. To vaster issues.

This is life to come, So to live is heaven: Which martyred men have made more To make undying music in the world,

glorious Breathing as beauteous order that com For she strive- to follow. May I

trols With growing sway the growing life of That purest heaven, be to other souls

The cup, of strength in some great So we inherit that sweet purity

agóny, For which we struggled, failed, and Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure agonized

Tove, With widening retrospect that bred Beget the smiles that have no cruelty despair.

Be the sweet presence of a good difRebellious flesh that would not be sub

fused, dued,

And in diffusion ever more intense. A vicious parent shaming still its child So shall I join the choir invisible Poor anxious penitence, is quick dis- Whose music is the gladness of the solved;

world.

man.

WILLIAM COX BENNETT.

1820

[Born at Greenwich in 1820. Son of a watchmaker, at which business he was put when be was 14 years old. He has taken an active part in all the agitations for popular education during the past thirty years, is the Hon. Sec. to the Greenwich branch of the National Education League, and'a member of the London Council. Has published several volumes of poems, but is best known as a song-writer. Dr. Bennett is a practised political writer, and was for several years on ihe editorial staff of The Weekly Dispatch. The University of Tusculum conferred on him the degree of LL.D. in 1869. A collected edition of his poems appeared in 1862, in Routiedgr's British Poets.]

BABY'S SHOES.
O, THOSE little, those little blue shoes ! For they mind her forevermore
Those shoes that no little feet use. Of a patter along the floor;
O the price were high

And blue eyes she sees
That those shoes would buy,

Look up from her knees, Those little blue unused shoes !

With the look that in life they wore.

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sources.

[Born in Ireland about 1820; published in 1850 a volume of Ballads, Poems, ard Loris, with translations from several modern languages. Issued in 1853 a translation of Calderon's dra mas; in 1857 two new volumes of Poems; and, in 1872, Shelby's Early Life, from original In 1871 he received a pension of £100, in recognition of literary merit.

Died April . 1882.)

SUMMER LONGINGS. Ah! my heart is weary waiting, Ah! my heart is sick with longing, Waiting for the May,

Longing for the May, Waiting for the pleasant rambles Longing to escape from study Where the fragrant hawthorn-brambles, To the young face fair and ruddy, With the woodbine alternating,

And the thousand charms belonging Scent the dewy way.

To the summer's day. Ah! my heart is weary waiting, Ah! my heart is sick with longing, Waiting for the May.

Longing for the May.

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