Or hardly slept, but watch'd awake
A cypress in the moonlight shake,

The moonlight touching o'er a terrace
One tall Agave above the lake.

What more? we took our last adieu,
And up the snowy Splugen drew,

But ere we reach'd the highest summit

I pluck'd a daisy, I gave it you.

It told of England then to me,
And now it tells of Italy.

O love, we two shall go no longer
To lands of summer across the sea;

So dear a life your arms enfold
Whose crying is a cry for gold :

Yet here to-night in this dark city,
When ill and weary, alone and cold,

I found, tho' crush'd to hard and dry,
This nurseling of another sky

Still in the little book you lent me,
And where you tenderly laid it by:

And I forgot the clouded Forth,

The gloom that saddens Heaven and Earth,
The bitter east, the misty summer
And gray metropolis of the North.

Perchance, to lull the throbs of pain,
Perchance, to charm a vacant brain,

Perchance to dream you still beside me,

My fancy fled to the South again.

Celia Haptur.

BEETHOVEN.

O sovereign Master! stern and splendid power, That calmly dost both Time and Death defy; Lofty and lone as mountain peaks that tower Leading our thoughts up to the eternal sky: Keeper of some divine, mysterious key,

Raising us far above all human care, Unlocking awful gates of harmony

To let heaven's light in on the world's despair · Smiter of solemn chords that still command

Echoes in souls that suffer and aspire,

In the great moment while we hold thy hand, Baptized with pain and rapture, tears and fire, God lifts our saddened foreheads from the dust, The everlasting God, in whom we trust!

And was it thus the master looked, think you?
Is this the painter's fancy? Who can tell!
These strong and noble outlines should be true;
On the broad brow such majesty should dwell.
Yea, and these deep, indomitable eyes

Lo, the imperial will

Are surely his.

In every feature!

Mighty purpose lies

About the shut mouth, resolute and still.

Notice the head's pathetic attitude,

Bent forward, listening, he that might not hear! Ah, could the world's adoring gratitude,

So late to come, have made his life less drear! Hearest thou, now, great soul beyond our ken, Men's reverent voices answering thee, “Amen?"

IN DEATH'S DESPITE.

Whither departs the perfume of the rose?
Into what life dies music's golden sound?
Year after year earth's long procession goes
To hide itself beneath the senseless ground.
Upon the grave's inexorable brink

Amazed with loss the human creature stands,
Vainly he strives to reason or to think,

Left with his aching heart and empty hands; He seeks his lost in vain. In sorrow drowned, Darkness and silence all his sense confound.

Till on Death's roll-call stern he hears his name,
In turn he follows and is lost to sight,
Though comforted by Love and crowned by Fame
He hears the summons dread no man may slight;
Sweetly and clear above his quiet grave

The birds shall sing, unmindful of his dust,
Softly, in turn the long green grass shall wave
Over his fallen head. In turn he must

Submit to be forgotten like the rest,

Though high the heart that beat within his breast.

The rose falls and the music's sound is gone;

Dear voices cease, and clasp of loving hands:

Alone we stand when the brief day is done,

Searching with saddened eyes earth's darkening land s.

Worthless as is the lightest fallen leaf

We seem, yet constant as the night's first star Kindles our deathless hope, and from our grief Is born the trust no misery can mar,

That Love shall lift us all despair above,

Shall conquer Death, yea,—Love, and only Love!

A TRYST.

From out the desolation of the North

An iceberg took its way,

From its detaining comrades breaking forth,
And traveling night and day.

At whose command? Who bade it sail the deep With that resistless force?

Who made the dread appointment it must keep? Who traced its awful course?

To the warm airs that stir in the sweet South

A good ship spread her sails;

Stately she passed beyond the harbor's mouth
Chased by the favoring gales.

And on her ample decks a happy crowd

Bade the fair land good-by;

Clear shone the day, with not a single cloud

In all the peaceful sky.

Brave men, sweet women, little children bright,

For all these she made room,

And with her freight of beauty and delight
She went to meet her doom.

Storms buffeted the iceberg, spray was swept
Across its loftiest height;

Guided alike by storm and calm it kept

Its fatal path aright.

Then warmer waves gnawed at its crumbling base

As if in piteous plea,

The ardent sun sent slow tears down its face,

Soft flowing to the sea.

Dawn kissed it with her tender rose-tints, eve

Bathed it in violet;

The wistful color o'er it seemed to grieve
With a divine regret.

Whether day clad its clefts in rainbows dim
And shadowy as a dream,

Or night through lonely spaces saw it swim
White in the moonlight's gleam,

Ever Death rode upon its solemn heights,

Ever his watch he kept;

Cold at its heart through changing days and nights Its changeless purpose slept.

And where afar a smiling coast it passed

Straightway the air grew chill,

Dwellers thereon perceived a bitter blast,
A vague report of ill.

Like some imperial creature, moving slow
Meanwhile, with matchless grace,

The stately ship, unconscious of her foe,
Drew near the trysting-place.

For still the prosperous breezes followed her,
And half the voyage was o'er ;

In many a breast glad thoughts began to stir
Of lands that lay before: