LONGING.

"Good counsel gave the bird," she said; "I have my wish thrice o'er;

For they sing to my very heart," she said. "And it sings with them evermore."

LONGING.

Or all the myriad moods of mind
That through the soul come thronging,
Which one was e'er so dear, so kind,
So beautiful, as Longing?

The thing we long for, that we are
For one transcendent moment,
Before the Present poor and bare
Can make its sneering comment.

Still, through our paltry stir and strife,
Glows down the wished Ideal,
And Longing moulds in clay what Life
Carves in the marble Real;

To let the new life in, we know,

Desire must ope the portal ;

Perhaps the longing to be so
Helps make the soul immortal.

Longing is God's fresh heavenward will,

With our poor earthward striving;

We quench it that we may be still
Content with merely living;

But would we learn that heart's full scope Which we are hourly wronging,

Our lives must climb from hope to hope, And realize our longing.

Ah! let us hope that to our praise
Good God not only reckons

The moments when we tread his ways,
But when the spirit beckons,-
That some slight good is also wrought
Beyond self-satisfaction,

When we are simply good in thought,
Howe'er we fail in action.

AUF WIEDERSEHEN!

I.

SUMMER.

THE little gate was reached at last,
Half hid in lilacs down the lane;
She pushed it wide, and as she passed
A wistful look she backward cast,
And said, "Auf Wiedersehen!"

With hand on latch, a vision white
Lingered, reluctant, and again

Half doubting if she did aright;
Soft as the dews that fell that night,
She said,-"Auf Wiedersehen !”

PALINODE.

The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair;
I linger in delicious pain;

Ah! in that chamber, whose rich air
To breathe in thought I scarcely dare.
Thinks she,-"Auf Wiedersehen!"

"Tis thirteen years; once more I press
The turf that silences the lane;

I hear the rustle of her dress,
I smell the lilacs, and-ah, yes,
I hear "Auf Wiedersehen!"

Sweet piece of bashful maiden art!

The English words had seemed too fain But these they drew us heart to heart, Yet held us tenderly apart,

She said,-"Auf Wiedersehen!"

PALINODE.

II.

AUTUMN.

Still thirteen years: 'tis autumn now,

On field and hill, in heart and brain; The naked trees at evening sough,

The leaf to the forsaken bough

Sighs not,-"We meet again !"

Two watched yon oriole's pendent dome That now is void, and dank with rain, And one-O, hope more frail than foam! The bird to his deserted home

Sings not,-"We meet again !”

The loath gate swings with rusty creak;
Once, parting there, we played at pain;
There came a parting, when the weak
And fading lips essayed to speak
Vainly,-"We meet again!"

Somewhere is comfort, somewhere faith,
Though thou in outer dark remain ;
One sweet, sad voice ennobles death,
And still, for eighteen centuries saith
Softly, "Ye meet again!"

If earth another grave must bear,

Yet heaven hath won a sweeter strain,

And something whispers to despair,
That, from an orient chamber there,
Floats down, "We meet again !"

MARIA LOWELL.

THE ALPINE SHEEP.

ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND AFTER THE LOSS OF A CHILD.

WHEN on my ear your loss was knelled,

And tender sympathy upburst,

A little spring from memory welled,

Which once had quenched my bitter thirst,

And I was fain to bear to you

A portion of its mild relief,
That it might be as healing dew,
To steal some fever from your grief.

After our child's untroubled breath
Up to the Father took its way,
And on our home the shade of Death,
Like a long twilight haunting lay,

And friends came round, with us to weep
Her little spirit's swift remove,

The story of the Alpine sheep

Was told to us by one we love.

They, in the valley's sheltering care,

Soon crop the meadows' tender prime, And when the sod grows brown and bare, The Shepherd strives to make them climb

To airy shelves of pasture green,

That hang along the mountain's side,

Where grass and flowers together lean,

And down through mist the sunbeams slide.