Within the cove all flash'd and foam'd.
With many a fleeting rainbow hue;
Without, gleam'd bright against the sky
A tender wavering line of blue,

Where toss'd the distant waves, and far
Shone, silver white, a quiet sail;
And overhead the soaring gulls

With graceful pinions stemm'd the gale.

And all my pulses thrill'd with joy,
Watching the winds' and waters' strife,
With sudden rapture, and I cried-
"O, sweet is life! Thank God for life!"

Sail'd any cloud across the sky,
Marring this glory of the sun's?—
Over the sea, from distant forts,

There came the boom of minute-guns!

War tidings! Many a brave soul fled,
And many a heart the message stuns !-
I saw no more the joyous waves;

I only heard the minute-guns.

MEDRAKE AND OSPREY.

MEDRAKE, waving wide wings low over the breeze-rippled bight!

Osprey, soaring superb overhead in the fathomless blue, Graceful, and fearless, and strong! do you thrill with the morning's delight

Even as I? Brings the sunshine a message of beauty for you?

O the blithe breeze of the west, blowing sweet from the far away land,

Bowing the grass heavy-headed, thick-crowding, so slender and proud!

O the warm sea sparkling over with waves by the swift wind fann'd!

O the wide sky crystal clear, with bright islands of delicate cloud!

Feel you the waking of life in the world lock'd so long in the frost,

Beautiful birds, with the light flashing bright from your banner-like wings?

Osprey, soaring so high, in the deeps of the sky half lost! Medrake, hovering low where the sandpiper's sweet note rings!

Nothing am I to you, a blot, perhaps, on the day;

Naught do I add to your joy, but precious you are in my sight;

And you seem on your glad wings to lift me up into the ether away,

And the morning divine is more radiant because of your glorious flight.

SONG.

WE sail tow'rd evening's lonely star

That trembles in the tender blue:

One single cloud, a dusky bar,

Burnt with dull carmine through and through,
Slow smouldering in the summer sky,

Lies low along the fading west.

How sweet to watch its splendours die,
Wave-cradled thus and wind-caress'd.

The soft breeze freshens, leaps the spray
To kiss our cheeks, with sudden cheer:
Upon the dark edge of the bay

Lighthouses kindle, far and near,
And through the warm deeps of the sky
Steal faint star-clusters, while we rest

In deep refreshment, thou and I,

Wave-cradled thus and wind-caress'd.

How like a dream are earth and heaven
Starbeam and darkness, sky and sea:
Thy face, pale in the shadowy even
Thy quiet eyes that gaze on me!
O realize the moment's charm,

Thou dearest! We are at life's best,Folded in God's encircling arm,

Wave-cradled thus and wind-caress'd.

JOHN AYLMERE DORGAN.

Born 1836-died 1867.

THE KISS.

THE lyre I bear-so sweet of sound—
I dash it on the frozen ground,

For idle are its golden chords,
And vain of song the burning words.

I kiss thee; let my kiss avail,
Where speech and music both must fail,
To tell the love, which else from thee
A secret evermore must be!

A FAREWELL.

FAINT splendours of the night of June,
Sweet radiance of the summer moon,
Upon thy pathway dwell!
Farewell, Estelle ! farewell!

Dim fragrance of the violet,
And of the briar-rose dew-wet,
Breathe from the shadowy dell!
Farewell, Estelle ! farewell!

Far murmurs of the summer trees,
And voices low of dreamy seas,
Around thee sink and swell!
Farewell, Estelle ! farewell!

And ever sweet, by thee be heard
The hum of bee, and song of bird,
And sound of holy bell!
Farewell, Estelle! farewell!

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

Born at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, 1836

WHEN THE SULTAN GOES TO ISPAHAN.

WHEN the Sultan Shah-Zaman

Goes to the city Ispahan,

Even before he gets so far

As the place where the cluster'd palm-trees are,
At the last of the thirty palace-gates,
The pet of the harem, Rose-in-Bloom,
Orders a feast in his favourite room,-
Glittering squares of colour'd ice,

Sweeten'd with syrup, tinctured with spice,
Creams, and cordials, and sugar'd dates,

Syrian apples, Othmanee quinces,

Limes, and citrons, and apricots,

And wines that are known to Eastern princes;

And Nubian slaves, with smoking pots

Of spiced meats and costliest fish

And all that the curious palate could wish,

Pass in and out of the cedarn doors:

Scatter'd over mosaic floors

Are anemones, myrtles, and violets,
And a musical fountain throws its jets
Of a hundred colours into the air.
The dusk Sultana loosens her hair,
And stains with the henna-plant the tips
Of her pearly nails, and bites her lips
Till they bloom again,-but, alas, that rose

Not for the Sultan buds and blows!
Not for the Sultan Shah-Zaman
When he goes to the city Ispahan.

Then at a wave of her sunny hand,
The dancing-girls of Samarcand
Float in like mists from Fairy-land !
And to the low voluptuous swoons
Of music rise and fall the moons

Of their full brown bosoms. Orient blood
Runs in their veins, shines in their eyes :
And there, in this Eastern Paradise,
Fill'd with the fumes of sandal-wood,
And Khoten musk, and aloes and myrrh,
Sits Rose-in-Bloom on a silk divan,
Sipping the wines of Astrakhan ;
And her Arab lover sits with her.
That's when the Sultan Shah-Zaman
Goes to the city Ispahan.

Now, when I see an extra light
Flaming, flickering on the night,
From my neighbour's casement opposite,
I know as well as I know to pray,
I know as well as a tongue can say,
That the innocent Sultan Shah-Zaman
Has gone to the city Ispahan.

PALABRAS CARIÑOSAS.

GOOD-NIGHT! I have to say good-night
To such a host of peerless things!
Good-night unto that fragile hand
All queenly with its weight of rings,
Good-night to fond up-lifted eyes,
Good-night to chestnut braids of hair,
Good-night unto the perfect mouth
And all the sweetness nestled there,-
The snowy hand detains me,—then
I'll have to say Good-night again!