AN OLD SONG ENDED.

'How should I your true love know

From another one?'

'By his cockle-hat and staff

And his sandal-shoon.'

'And what signs have told you now

That he hastens home?'

'Lo! the spring is nearly gone,

He is nearly come.'

'For a token is there nought,

Say, that he should bring?'

'He will bear a ring I gave

And another ring.'

'How may I, when he shall ask,

Tell him who lies there?' 'Nay, but leave my face unveiled

And unbound my hair.'

'Can you say to me some word

I shall say to him ?'

'Say I'm looking in his eyes

Though my eyes are dim.'

WORLD'S WORTH.

'Tis of the Father Hilary.

He strove, but could not pray; so took

The steep-coiled stair, where his feet shook

A sad blind echo. Ever up

He toiled.

'Twas a sick sway of air

That autumn noon within the stair,

As dizzy as a turning cup.

His brain benumbed him, void and thin;

He shut his eyes and felt it spin;

The obscure deafness hemmed him in.

He said: 'O world, what world for me?'

He leaned unto the balcony

Where the chime keeps the night and day;
It hurt his brain, he could not pray.

He had his face upon the stone:
Deep 'twixt the narrow shafts, his eye
Passed all the roofs to the stark sky,

Swept with no wing, with wind alone.

Close to his feet the sky did shake

With wind in pools that the rains make:

The ripple set his eyes to ache.

He said: 'O world, what world for me?'

He stood within the mystery

Girding God's blessed Eucharist :

The organ and the chaunt had ceas'd. The last words paused against his ear

Said from the altar: drawn round him

The gathering rest was dumb and dim.

And now the sacring-bell rang clear

And ceased; and all was awe,—the breath

Of God in man that warranteth

The inmost utmost things of faith.

He said: 'O God, my world in Thee!'

ASPECTA MEDUSA.

ANDROMEDA, by Perseus saved and wed,
Hankered each day to see the Gorgon's head:
Till o'er a fount he held it, bade her lean,
And mirrored in the wave was safely seen

That death she lived by.

Let not thine eyes know

Any forbidden thing itself, although

It once should save as well as kill: but be

Its shadow upon life enough for thee.

THE BRIDE'S PRELUDE.

'SISTER,' said busy Amelotte

To listless Aloÿse ;

Along your wedding-road the wheat

Bends as to hear your horse's feet,

And the noonday stands still for heat.'

Amelotte laughed into the air

With eyes that sought the sun : But where the walls in long brocade Were screened, as one who is afraid Sat Aloyse within the shade.

And even in shade was gleam enough To shut out full repose

From the bride's 'tiring-chamber, which

Was like the inner altar-niche

Whose dimness worship has made rich.