But the vision faded and all was still, No sound was there save the wailing breeze, PICTURES IN THE FIRE. HAT is it you ask me, darling? Tell you glorious scenes of travel? Yet strange sights in truth I witness, Wondrous pictures, changing ever, As I look into the fire. There, last night, I saw a cavern, And a knight in dismal armour And his crest was all of flame. As I gazed the dragon faded, And, instead, sate Pluto crowned, By a lake of burning fire; Spirits dark were crouching round. That was gone, and lo! before me, I could almost hear the organ As I watched the wreathèd pillars, And a group of swarthy Indians Stay; a cataract glancing brightly, Then I saw a maiden wreathing That was wrapped about her feet? That fell crashing all and vanished; I could almost hear the clarions, They were gone; and lo! bright angels, On a barren mountain wild, Raised appealing arms to Heaven, Bearing up a little child. And I gazed, and gazed, and slowly Gathered in my eyes sad tears, And the fiery pictures bore me Back through distant dreams of years. Once again I tasted sorrow, With past joy was once more gay, 康 THE SETTLERS. WO stranger youths in the Far West, Pausing, amid their toil to rest, Spake of their home beyond the seas; Spake of the hearts that beat so warmly, Of the hearts they loved so well, In their chilly northern country. "Would," they cried, "some voice could tell Where they are, our own beloved ones!" That gently played among The acacia trees. And did no warning spirit answer, Thou, who trustest still so blindly, Know she stands a smiling bride! |