Where Porphyro took covert, pleased amain.

His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain.

Her faltering hand upon the balustrade,

Old Angela was feeling for the stair, When Madeline, Saint Agnes' charméd maid,

Rose, like a missioned spirit, unaware; With silver taper's light, and pious

care,

She turned, and down the aged gossip led

To a safe level matting. Now prepare, Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed!

She comes, she comes again, like ring

dove frayed and fled.

Out went the taper as she hurried in, Its little smoke in pallid moonshine died:

She closed the door, she panted, all akin To spirits of the air, and visions wide: No uttered syllable, or, woe betide! But to her heart, her heart was voluble, Paining with eloquence her balmy side;

As though a tongueless nightingale should swell

Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell.

bud again.

Stolen to this paradise, and so en

Open thine eyes, for meek Saint Agnes'

sake,

Or I shall drowse beside thee; so my soul doth ache."

Thus whispering, his warm, unnervéd

arm

Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream

By the dusk curtains:-'t was a midnight charm

Impossible to melt as icéd stream: The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam;

Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies: It seemed he never, never could redeem From such a steadfast spell his lady's

Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, Tumultuous, and, in chords that tenderest be,

He played an ancient ditty, long since mute,

In Provence called, "La belle dame sans mercy";

Close to her ear touching the melody: Wherewith disturbed, she uttered a soft moan;

He ceased-she panted quick-and suddenly

Her blue affrayéd eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, pale as smoothsculptured stone.

Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep: There was a painful change, that nigh expelled

The blisses of her dream so pure and deep;

At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with

vermeil dyed?

But his sagacious eye an inmate owns: By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide;

The chains lie silent on the foot-worn stones;

rest

After so many hours of toil and quest, A famished pilgrim,- saved by miracle. Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest

Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well

To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel."

hinges groans.

And they are gone: ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. That night the baron dreamt of many

a woe,

And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form

In darkness as in light, Hidden alike from view, I sleep, I wake, as in his sight Who looks all nature through.

All that I am, have been,
All that I yet may be,

He sees at once, as he hath seen,
And shall forever see.

"Forever with the Lord":
Father, if 't is thy will,

The promise of that faithful word
Unto thy child fulfil!

So, when my latest breath Shall rend the veil in twain, By death I shall escape from death, And life eternal gain.

PRAYER.

PRAYER is the soul's sincere desire
Uttered or unexpressed,
The motion of a hidden fire
That trembles in the breast.

Prayer is the burden of a sigh,

The falling of a tear; The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near.

Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;
Prayer the sublimest strains that reach
The Majesty on high.

Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,
The Christian's native air;
His watchword at the gates of death:
He enters heaven by prayer.

Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice

Returning from his ways; While angels in their songs rejoice, And say, "Behold he prays!"

O Thou, by whom we come to God,
The Life, the Truth, the Way,
The path of prayer thyself hast trod:
Lord, teach us how to pray!

HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS.

[1762-1827.]

WHILST THEE I SEEK.

WHILST Thee I seek, protecting Power,
Be my vain wishes stilled!
And may this consecrated hour

With better hopes be filled.

Thy love the power of thought bestowed;
To thee my thoughts would soar:
Thy mercy o'er my life has flowed,
That mercy I adore.

In each event of life, how clear
Thy ruling hand I see!
Each blessing to my soul more dear,
Because conferred by thee.

In every joy that crowns my days,
In every pain I bear,

My heart shall find delight in praise,
Or seek relief in prayer.

When gladness wings my favored hour, Thy love my thoughts shall fill; Resigned, when storms of sorrow lower, My soul shall meet thy will.

My lifted eye, without a tear,

The gathering storm shall see; My steadfast heart shall know no fear; That heart shall rest on thee.

UNKNOWN.

THERE WAS SILENCE IN HEAVEN. CAN angel spirits need repose

In the full sunlight of the sky? And can the veil of slumber close A cherub's bright and blazing eye? Have seraphim a weary brow,

A fainting heart, an aching breast? No, far too high their pulses flow To languish with inglorious rest. O, not the death-like calm of sleep Could hush the everlasting song; No fairy dream or slumber deep Entrance the rapt and holy throng.