THE POET DREAMT OF HEAVEN. IOI

THE POET DREAMT OF HEAVEN.

ANON.

THE poet dreamt of Heaven!

He strayed, a little child amidst the glen Where in his boyhood he'd been wont to stray; He heard the very sounds he loved so then, And knew the very forms. 'Twas in this way The poet dreamt of Heaven.

The mother dreamt of Heaven!

She saw her children decked in gems and flowers; And one, whose health had always been amiss, Was blooming now in those celestial bowers He laughed to roam among. And dreaming this, The mother dreamt of Heaven!

Her children dreamt of Heaven!

O, 'twas a glorious land, where daisies grew, And hidden music round it sounded low;

And playtime lasted there the whole year through, And angels came and joined with them. 'Twas so Her children dreamt of Heaven!

The traveller dreamt of Heaven!

The sun once more with trebled splendor rose,
And o'er the scene its shadows cast

Where all was taintless joy and calm repose,
And quiet thinking of the dangerous past.
He said its name was Heaven!

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ON THE SEA.

The mourner dreamt of Heaven!

Before his eyes, so long with sorrow dim,

A glorious sheen, like lengthened lightning, blazed; And from the clouds one face looked down on him, Whose beauty thrilled his veins. And as he gazed He knew he gazed on Heaven!

And all dream on!

Heaven's for the pure, the just, the undefiled;
And so our lives, by holy faith, are such;

Our dreams may be erroneous, varying, wild;
But O, we cannot think and hope too much.
So let them all dream on!

ON THE SEA.

BAYARD TAYLOR.

THE pathway of the sinking moon
Fades from the silent bay;

The mountain isles loom large and faint,
Folded in shadows gray,

And the lights of land are setting stars
That soon will pass away.

O boatman, cease thy mellow song,
O minstrel, drop thy lyre;

Let us hear the voice of the midnight sea,
Let us speak as the waves inspire,
While the plashy dip of the languid oar
Is a furrow of silver fire.

THE SOUL.

Day cannot make thee half so fair,

Nor the stars of eve so dear;

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The arms that clasp, and the breast that keeps, They tell me thou art near,

And the perfect beauty of thy face

In thy murmured words I hear.

The lights of land have dropped below
The vast and glimmering sea;

The world we have is a tale that is told, —
A fable that cannot be.

There is no life in the sphery dark
But the love in thee and me.

THE SOUL.

ADDISON.

THE Soul, secure in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point;
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amid the war of elements,

The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.

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THE PRAYER OF NATURE.

THE PRAYER OF NATURE.

BYRON.

FATHER of Light! great God of Heaven,
Hear'st thou the accents of despair?
Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven?
Can vice atone for crimes by prayer?

Father of Light, on thee I call;

Thou seest my soul is dark within;
Thou, who canst mark the sparrow's fall,
Avert from me the death of sin.

No shrine I seek to sects unknown;
O, point to me the path of truth;
Thy dread omnipotence I own;

Spare, yet amend the faults of youth.

Let bigots rear a gloomy fane,

Let superstition hail the pile,

Let priests, to spread their sable reign,
With tales of mystic rites beguile.

Shall man confine his Maker's sway

To Gothic domes of mouldering stone?

Thy temple is the face of day;

Earth, occan, heaven thy boundless throne.

Shall man condemn his race to hell

Unless they bend in pompous form;