I am his friend, nor ever was his foe? Whose the sweet season, if it be not mine? Mine, not the bobolinks, that song divine, Chasing the shadows o'er the flying wheat! 'Tis a dead voice, not his, that sounds so sweet.

Whose passionate heart burns in this flaming rose

But his, whose passionate heart long since lay still?

Whose wan hope pales this snowlike lily tall,

Beside the garden wall,

But his whose radiant eyes and lily grace Sleep in the grave that crowns you tufted hill?

All hope, all memory,

Have their deep springs in me; And love, that else might fade, By ine immortal made,

TELL me, wide wandering soul, in all thy

quest

Sipping or draining deep from crystal

rim

I saw her scan again the scroll,-
I heard her read again the roll;
I heard her name her soldier son,
Ward, called from home by Lexington.
He smiled and laid his baton down,
Proud to be next to Washington!
He called her list of boys and men
Who served her for her battles then.
From North to South, from East to West,
He named her bravest and her best,
From distant fort, from bivouac near:
"Brooks, Eustis, Cobb, and Thacher!"
"Here."

Name after name, with quick reply,
As twitched his lip and flashed his eye;
But then he choked and bowed his head, -
"Warren at Bunker Hill lies dead."

hate Rage from Fez to Tetuan! Open straight.” The watchman heard as thunder from afar:

"Go to! In peace this city lies asleep; To all-knowing Allah 't is no news you bring;"

Then turned in slumber still his watch to keep.

At once a nightingale began to sing,
In oriental calm the garden lay, -
Panic and war postponed another day.

CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER

ON A BOY'S FIRST READING OF "KING HENRY V"

WHEN youth was lord of my unchallenged fate,

And time seemed but the vassal of my will, I entertained certain guests of state

The great of older days, who, faithful still, Have kept with me the pact my youth had made.

And I remember how one galleon raro
From the far distance of a time long dead
Came on the wings of a fair-fortuned air,
With sound of martial music heralded,
In blazonry of storied shields arrayed.

So the Great Harry with high trumpetings,
The wind of victory in her burly sails!
And all her deck with clang of armor
rings:

And under-flown the Lily standard trails,
And over-flown the royal Lions ramp.

The waves she rode are strewn with silent wrecks,

Her proud sea-comrades once; but ever yet Comes time defying laughter from her decks,

Where stands the lion-lord Plantagenet, Large-hearted, merry, king of court and

camp.

Sail on! sail on! The fatal blasts of time That spared so few, shall thee with joy escort;

And with the stormy thunder of thy rhyme Shalt thou salute full many a centuried port With "Ho! for Harry and red Agincourt!"

TO A MAGNOLIA FLOWER IN THE GARDEN OF THE ARMENIAN CONVENT AT VENICE

I SAW thy beauty in its high estate

Of perfect empire, where at set of sun In the cool twilight of thy lucent leaves The dewy freshness told that day was done.

Hast thou no gift beyond thine ivory cone's Surpassing loveliness? Art thou not

near

More near than we-to nature's silentness;

Is it not voiceful to thy finer ear?

Thy folded secrecy doth like a charm

Compel to thought. What spring-born yearning lies

Within the quiet of thy stainless breast That doth with languorous passion seem to rise?

The soul doth truant angels entertain

Who with reluctant joy their thoughts confess:

Low-breathing, to these sister spirits give The virgin mysteries of thy heart to guess.