THE MURDERED TRAVELLER.

The fragrant birch, above him, hung
Her tassels in the sky;

And many a vernal blossom sprung,
And nodded careless by.

The red-bird warbled, as he wrought
His hanging nest o'erhead;
And fearless, near the fatal spot,
Her young the partridge led.

But there was weeping far away,
And gentle eyes, for him,

With watching many an anxious day,

Were sorrowful and dim.

They little knew, who loved him so,
The fearful death he met,

When shouting o'er the desert snow,
Unarmed and hard beset;

Nor how, when round the frosty pole
The northern dawn was red,

The mountain wolf and wild-cat stole
To banquet on the dead;

Nor how, when strangers found his bones,

They dressed the hasty bier,

And marked his grave with nameless stones, Unmoistened by a tear.

ANGELS BY THE DOOR.

O! THERE be angels evermwore,
A-passèn onward by the door,
A-zent to teäke our jays, or come
To bring us zome -O Meärianne.

Though doors be shut, an' bars be stout,
Noo bolted door can keep em out;
But they wull leäve us everything
They have to bring-My Meärianne.

An' zoo the daes a-stealèn by,
Wi' zuns a-ridèn droo the sky,

Do bring us things to leave us sad,
Or meäke us glad—O Meärianne.
The dae that's mild, the dae that's stern,

Do teäke, in stillness, each his turn;
An' evils at their wo'st mid mend,

Or even end-My Meärianne.

But still, if we can only beäre,
Wi' faïth an' love, our païn an' ceäre,
We shan't vind missèn jaÿ a-lost,
Though we be crost-O Meärianne;
But all a-car'd to heaven, an' stowed,
Where we can't weäste em on the road,

COME BACK!

As we do wander to an' fro,
Down here below - My Meärianne.

But there be jays I'd soonest choose
To keep, vrom they that I must lose:
Thy worksome hands to help my twile,
Thy cheerful smile-O Meärianne;
The Zunday bells o' yander tower,

The moonlight sheädes o' my own bower,
An' rest avore our vier-zide,

At evenèn-tide-My Meärianne.

WILLIAM BARNES.

COME BACK!

COME from your long, long roving,
On the sea so wild and rough!
Come to me tender and loving,
And I shall be blessed enough!

Where your sails have been unfurling,
What winds have blown on your brow,
I know not, and ask not, my darling,
So that you come to me now.

Sorrowful, sinful, and lonely,
Poor and despised though you be,

All are as nothing, if only

You turn from the tempter to me.

EPITHALAMIUM.

Of men though you be unforgiven,
Though priest be unable to shrive,
I'll pray till I weary all heaven,
If only you'll come back alive.

ANONYMOUS.

EPITHALAMIUM.

I SAW two clouds at morning,
Tinged by the rising sun,
And in the dawn they floated on,
And mingled into one:

I thought that morning cloud was blest,
It moved so sweetly to the west.

I saw two summer currents

Flow smoothly to their meeting,
And join their course with silent force,
In peace each other greeting;

Calm was their course through banks of
While dimpling eddies played between.

Such be your gentle motion,

Till life's last pulse shall beat;

green,

Like Summer's beam, and Summer's stream,
Float on in joy, to meet

A calmer sea, where storms shall cease,

A purer sky, where all is peace.

JOHN GARDNER CALKINS Brainard.