With woman's los are wiTe Wrought of intenser sympat. A I fear thy gentle loveliness, The silver stars may purely sline, The waters taintless flow, But they who kneel at woman's shrine Ye may fling back the gift again, But the crushed flower will leave a stain. What shall preserve thee, beautiful child? To lead thee up to Him? He who himself was "undefiled,” With him we trust thee, beautiful child! WILLIS. Strange, that the audible stillness of the noon, And the light whisper as their edges meet- WILLIS. TO LAURA. BRIGHT be the skies that cover thee, Bright as the dream flung over thee I know no fount that gushes out I would that thou mightst ever be That time might ever leave as free I would life were "all poetry," Till God the cunning harp hath broken. I would but deeper things than these "Her lot is on thee" lovely child- I fear thy gentle loveliness, May be to thee a snare. The silver stars may purely shine, The waters taintless flow, But they who kneel at woman's shrine Ye may fling back the gift again, But the crushed flower will leave a stain. What shall preserve thee, beautiful child? Bring thee, a spirit undefiled, At God's pure throne to bow? The world is but a broken reed, And life grows early dim; Who shall be near thee in thy need, To lead thee up to Him? He who himself was "undefiled," With him we trust thee, beautiful child! WILLIS. THE LADY'S YES. "YES!" I answered you last night; "No," this morning, sir, I say! Colours seen by candle-light, Will not look the same by day. When the tabors played their best, Love me, sounded like a jest, Call me false, or call me free- No man on thy face shall see Yet the sin is on us both Time to dance is not to wooWooer light makes fickle trothScorn of me recoils on you! Learn to win a lady's faith Nobly, as the thing is high; Bravely, as for life and death— Lead her from the festive boards, Point her to the starry skies, Guard her, by your truthful words, Pure from courtship's flatteries. By your truth she shall be true Ever true as wives of yore-- Shall be YES for evermore. BARRETT. VICTORIA'S TEARS. "O MAIDEN, heir of kings, The Majesty of death has swept And thou, upon thy mother's breast, But take the glory for the rest, And rule the land that loves thee best." She wept to wear a crown. They decked her courtly halls— They reined her hundred steeds They shouted at her palace gate, "A noble Queen succeeds!" Her name has stirred the mountains' sleep, And mourners God had stricken deep, Who wept to wear a crown. She saw no purple shine, For tears had dimmed her eyes: |