I loved. I was St. Aubyn's choice,

But envy wove a deep-laid snare— St. Aubyn chose another love,

And sought a country far and fair. A warrior by me prayed, and knelt,

The bugle called him from my side, With muttered oath upon his lips

That none but I should be his bride.

And time rolled on; the strife was o'er,
The warrior's bark was on the tide,
And the victorious ship of war

Brought home St. Aubyn and his bride.
How many hours I wept and prayed
In agony, that I might die

Unseen, unheard by all save One,
Who keeps the record-rolls on high.

How often in this changeful life,

The evil dreaded never comes;

He did return one summer night
With arms reversed, and muffled drums.
The storm had risen on the deep,
The minute-gun had vainly pealed;
The ship had struck upon a rock,

And Death a hundred victims sealed.

They bore the lifeless officer

From the engulphing waves of strife, And following, in the strangers' arms

They brought St. Aubyn's haughty wife.

We watched that night beside the dead,
St. Aubyn by his jewelled bride,

And I gazed wildly on that form,
With sword and helmet by his side.

And midnight wearily stole on,

Heavy clouds o'er the young moon swept We looked out upon life, and prayed;

We looked upon the dead, and wept. That God can work while man looks on, That Truth will triumph o'er our dread— A lesson sometimes hard to learn,

We learnt, while watching by the dead.

'Twas not a scene that lovers choose;
Did any say that we had loved?
The dead were by us, yet we knew
That we were living and beloved.
Truth's talisman was on each heart,

Oh! was there sin in what we said,
The troubles told, the truths confessed,
That night we watched beside the dead?

Ah! three-score years have passed since then ;
St. Aubyn in his grave lies low,

And I, the idol of his heart,

Am calmly waiting till I go.

My eyes are dim; from memory's page
Full many a thrilling scene has fled,
But pure, undimmed, shines forth the night,
That night we watched beside the dead.

THE EVENING MESSAGE.

"Leontius Patricius, Bishop of Cyprus, was one day unreasonably angry with John, the Patriarch of Alexandria. At even the latter sent a servant with this message: 'Brother, the sun has set.' Reconciliation followed."-The Craftsman.

VER earth the eve's dark mantle

Is coming slowly on;

Foot of labourer, sound of hammer,
With the bright day are gone.
Soon the first pale star of evening
Shall with its friend have met;

My friend, the day is dying slowly —
Brother, the sun has set."

66

Held I not the lamp of warning
Amid the tempest's wrath?
Sought I not, in love fraternal,
To guide thee in thy path?
Ah! companion, for thee yearning,
Mine eyes with tears are wet;
I am weary for thee watching-
"Brother, the sun has set."

If I have erred unconsciously,
Forgive me, oh forgive!

By the Lodge where we assemble,
The life we're sworn to live;

E

Where the tyler guards the portal,

Have we not often met ?

We are bound by bonds mysterious--Brother, the sun has set."

By the God who dwells above us,
Draw out the rankling thorn;
By the Christ who came to love us,
Arise in peace next morn!
Let not darkness stamp its signet
On our spirits yet;

Light within our soul prevaileth-
"Brother, the sun has set."

Soon the solemn hour is coming,

When shield and sword must fall,

And we, dying in the battle,

Must meet the Lord of all.
Let us live that o'er our memory
Falls no dark regret ;

Let us live as Christ's dear children

And in years long yet to number,
It may be, some stray soul
Shall hear of this our charity,
And he may send a scroll

To some companion grown estranged,
That scroll with Love's tears wet;
And the mysterious words shall be—
"Brother, the sun has set."

W

TO MINNIE.

E have been friends for many years,
Though changes we have seen;
A stream unfettered by the frost,
Our friendship's course has been.
And time has kindly dealt with thee;
Lightly o'er thee it floats;

Thy voice is full of melody,

Like a bird's happy notes.

When first I knew thee, Minnie dear,
Childhood was on thy brow;

Fond parents round us kept love's guard-
Where are those parents now?
We've laid them each in quiet rest,
Low in the mould'ring sod,
Knowing their sainted spirits dwell
Before the throne of God.

And now I see thee, Minnie fair,
Sheltered in love's strong arms—
A heart that yearns to keep thee safe
From the world's wild alarms.
And love has set its signet blest
Upon thy gentle soul;

Pray God the union may remain

Long ere Death's billows roll;