Why lasts not the silvery brightness
Of our young hearts' first love-dream,
Gladdening all earth with its presence,
Till things are not what they seem.?"
Low our accents were and gentle,

Half of joy, and half of dole;
Till our voices ceased entirely,

And we spoke-but soul to soul.

Then your hand clasped mine more firmly,
As a vow of truth to seal;

And our quick eyes spoke the secret
That our lips dare not reveal.
Ah! our hearts were pure and stainless,
In their innocence and truth;
Trusting, trusting, ever blindly,
With the earnest faith of youth.

For ah, we were but children, Jem!
Our love was children's love;
Allied in faith and purity

To better things above.

With soberer years the dream may pass
From our sunny lives away;

But an angel came to the green earth,
And dwelt in our hearts that day.

For sure 'twas not a mortal lyre,
To whose music low and sweet,
With its murmuring tone of tenderness,
Our hearts responsive beat.

And it breathed a tale of brighter land,
Where love that is quenched on earth
Shall burn again with a purer flame,
Than earthly love gives birth.

O, blessings on the sinlessness
Of love's first passing dream!
It makes the world a paradise,

Where holier stars down gleam;
It lends its own hues of romance
To each surrounding scene,

And brightens earth's most sordid things With a kind of fairy sheen.

But best it is, it should not last,
That dream so pure and bright-
'Twould make earth seem apparelled
In too celestial light.

And if the bliss of perfect love
To us below were given,
Our longing hearts would soon forget
The brighter joys of heaven.

But ever along life's fitful track,
With its gleams of light and shade,
A haunting memory comes back,
Of the first love-vows we made.
And though our hearts in after years
May learn to love again,

Still 'mid the music tone there blends
An ever mournful strain.

For though our vows may be more loud,

They will never be as true

As the first words of earnest love,

When life and we are new.

Though in after years we may mask the heart,

And garner its tenderness up

There is never in love a draught so sweet

As that in its earliest cup.

HEART WISHES.

I WOULD not wear a golden crown,
Nor reign upon a throne;
But o'er one true and loving heart,
I would be queen alone.

I would not have a servile throng
Press round to bow the knee;
But one light, free and easy step,
Haste homeward unto me.

I would not have a sumptuous couch,
When pain had laid me low;

But one dear arm to hold my form,
One hand to press my brow.

I would not have proud marble piled
Upon my lowly head;

But simple stone and grassy mound,
And one to weep me dead.

I would, beloved, to thee and me,
The priceless pearl be given,

That thy true heart may meet mine own,
And each have each in heaven.

HE CAME TOO LATE.

IIE came too late!-Neglect had tried
Her constancy too long;
Her love had yielded to her pride,
And the deep sense of wrong.
She scorned the offering of a heart
Which lingered on its way,
Till it could no delight impart,
Nor spread one cheering ray.

He came too late!-At once he felt
That all his power was o'er :
Indifference in her calm smile dwelt -
She thought of him no more.
Anger and grief had passed away,

Her heart and thoughts were free;
She met him, and her words were gay--
No spell had Memory.

He came too late!-The subtle chords
Of love were all unbound,

Not by offence of spoken words,

But by the slights that wound.
She knew that life held nothing now

That could the past repay,

Yet she disdained his tardy vow,

And coldly turned away.

He came too late!-Her countless dreams
Of hope had long since flown;

No charms dwelt in his chosen themes,
Nor in his whispered tone.

And when, with word and smile, he tried
Affection still to prove,

She nerved her heart with woman's pride,
And spurned his fickle love.

PRAYER FOR AN ABSENT HUSBAND.

FATHER in heaven!

Behold, he whom I love is daily treading
The path of life in heaviness of soul,
With the thick darkness now around him spreading
He long hath striven-

O, thou most kind! break not the golden bowl.

Father in heaven!

Thou who so oft hast healed the broken-hearted,
And raised the weary spirit bowed with care,
Let him not say his joy hath all departed,
Lest he be driven,

Down to the deep abyss of dark despair.

Father in heaven!

Oh, grant to his most cherished hopes a blessing-
Let peace and rest descend upon his head,
That his torn heart, thy holy love possessing,
May not be riven-

Let guardian angels watch his lonely bed.

Father in heaven!

Oh, may his heart be stayed on thee! each feeling
Still lifted up in gratitude and love;

And may that faith the joys of heaven revealing
To him be given,

Till he shall praise thy name in realms above.

TWO PORTRAITS FROM LIFE.

I.

On, what a timid watch young Love was keeping When thou wert fashioned in such gentle guise! How was thy nature nursed with secret sighs! What bitter tears thy mother's heart was steeping!

Within the crystal depths of thy blue eyes A world of troubled tenderness lies sleeping,

And on thy full and glowing lip there lies A shadow that portends thee future weeping. Tender and self-distrustful--doubting still

Thyself, but trusting all the world beside,
Tremblingly sensitive to coming ill,

Blessing with woman's softness manhood's pride,
How wilt thou all life's future conflicts bear,
And fearless suffer all that man must do and dare!

II.

PROUD, self-sustained and fearless! dreading naught
Save falsehood-loving everything but sin-
How glorious is the light that from within
Illumes thy boyish face with lofty thought!!
A child thou art-but thy deep eyes are fraught
With that mysterious light by genius shed,
And in thine aspect is a glory caught

From the high dreams that cluster round thy head: I know not what thy future lot may be,

But, when men gather to a new crusade Against earth's falsehood, wrong, and tyranny, Thou wilt be there with all thy strength displayedThy voice clear-ringing mid the conflict's roar, And on thy banner, writ in stars, "Excelsior!?"

SYMPATHY.

LIKE the sweet melody which faintly lingers
Upon the windharp's strings at close of day,
When gently touched by evening's dewy fingers,.
It breathes a low and melancholy lay:

So the calm voice of sympathy meseemeth;
And while its magic spell is round me cast,.
My spirit in its cloistered silence dreameth,
And vaguely blends the future with the past.

But vain such dreams while pain my bosom thrilleth,
And mournful memories around me move;

E'en friendship's alchemy no balm distilleth,
To soothe th' immedicable wound of love..