Fair Poesy, deep blushing,

Gave music back the toy,

While through her heart was rushing A pure unwonted joy'Nay, lovely sister! hear me,

'With me do thou abide, 'Forever one and near me,

'My throne thou shalt divide.

'When from their breathing slumbers Thou pour'st sweet strains along,

'I'll catch the airy numbers,

'And weave them into song.

'I'll cull fair flowers, and warm them With spirit from above,

'And thou shalt all inform them

'With melody and love.'

Thus formed, this fond alliance
Was never after broke ;
Since then, in sweet compliance,
The two as one have spoke ;
And thence the lyric measures
In graceful numbers flow,
Giving new zest to pleasure,
And gently soothing wo.

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.

BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

WHEN the hours of day are numbered,
And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight;

Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful fire-light
Dance upon the parlor wall;

Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;

The beloved ones, the true-hearted,

Come to visit me once more;

He, the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife,

By the road-side fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life!

They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more!

And with them the Being Beauteous,
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.

With a slow and noiseless footstep,
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.

And she sits and gazes at me,

With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies.

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.

Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.

O, though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside,

If I but remember only

Such as these have lived and died!

143

OH THINK NOT THAT THE DREAM

IS PAST!

BY JOHN B. L. SOULE.

ОH THINK not that the dream is past

Of scenes when fondest hopes were cherished; Though but the shadow now may last Of each bright hope forever perished.

I know that fortune hath decreed

These hearts shall never be united; I know that mine alone must bleed, That mine alone was truly plighted.

Although the strain which now I pour
In plaintive sadness, ne'er may reach thee;
Although this tongue shall never more
Of deathless love essay to teach thee,-