We were twin brothers, tall and hale,
Glad wanderers over hill and dale.

We stood within the twilight shade
Of pines that rimmed a Southern glade.
He said: "Let 's settle, if we can,
Which of us is the stronger man.

"We'll try a flight shot, high and good, Across the green glade toward the wood."

And so we bent in sheer delight
Our old yew bows with all our might.

Our long keen shafts, drawn to the head,
Were poised a moment ere they sped.

As we leaned back a breath of air
Mingled the brown locks of our hair.

We loosed. As one our bow-cords rang,
As one away our arrows sprang.

Away they sprang; the wind of June
Thrilled to their softly whistled tune.

We watched their flight, and saw them strike Deep in the ground slantwise alike,

So far away that they might pass
For two thin straws of broom-sedge grass!

Then arm in arm we doubting went To find whose shaft was farthest sent,

Each fearing in his loving heart
That brother's shaft had fallen short.

But who could tell by such a plan Which of us was the stronger man?

There at the margin of the wood,
Side by side our arrows stood,

Their red cock-feathers wing and wing,
Their amber nocks still quivering,

Their points deep-planted where they fell An inch apart and parallel !

We clasped each other's hands; said he, "Twin champions of the world are we!"

A CREOLE SLAVE-SONG (Ah, lo zo-zo chan' dan' branche) WHAT bird is that, with voice so sweet, Sings to the sun from yonder tree ? What girl is that so slim and fleet, Comes through the cane her love to meet ? Foli zo-zo, sing merrily.

The pretty girl she comes to me!

What wind is that upon the cane?

What perfume from a far-off rose Fills me with dreams? What strange, vague pain

Stirs in my heart? What longing vain
Is this that through my bosom goes?
O south wind, perfume and desire,
You kiss, you soothe, you burn like fire!

Ah, no! Ah, no! It is a cheat.

There is no bird; my love comes not; The wind chills me from head to feet, And oh, it brings no perfume sweet.

My slender girl the white man bought, And took her far across the bayI cannot cut the cane to-day!

I cannot cut the cane to-day—

O zo-zo, moquer, come and sing!

O warm wind, through the cane-field stray,
Wave the long moss so soft and gray!

I have no heart for anything;
But life was heaven and work was play
When my love loved me every day!

White man, how I worked for you

When I was young and blithe and strong! The earth was green, the sky was blue, My love's eyes were as bright as dew; And life was like the zo-zo's song! But youyou sold my love awayI cannot cut the cane to-day!

POE'S COTTAGE AT FORDHAM

HERE lived the soul enchanted

By melody of song;

Here dwelt the spirit haunted
By a demoniac throng;
Here sang the lips elated;

Here grief and death were sated;
Here loved and here unmated

Was he, so frail, so strong.

Here wintry winds and cheerless
The dying firelight blew,
While he whose song was peerless
Dreamed the drear midnight through,
And from dull embers chilling
Crept shadows darkly filling
The silent place, and thrilling

His fancy as they grew.

Here, with brow bared to heaven,

In starry night he stood, With the lost star of seven Feeling sad brotherhood. Here in the sobbing showers Of dark autumnal hours He heard suspected powers Shriek through the stormy wood. From visions of Apollo

And of Astarte's bliss, He gazed into the hollow

And hopeless vale of Dis; And though earth were surrounded By heaven, it still was mounded With graves. His soul had sounded The dolorous abyss.

Proud, mad, but not defiant,

He touched at heaven and hell.

Nay, methinks the maiden moon, When the daylight came too soon, Fleeting from her bath to hide, Left her garment in the tide.

Yet each the heavens approve,
And Love alike hath blessed
A Martha's household care,
A Mary's cloistered prayer.

ANONYMOUS

ANONYMOUS -nor needs a name
To tell the secret whence the flame,

With light, and warmth, and incense,

came

A new creation to proclaim.

So was it when, His labor done,

God saw His work, and smiled thereon:
His glory in the picture shone,
But name upon the canvas, none.

CLOVER

LITTLE masters, hat in hand Let me in your presence stand, Till your silence solve for me This your threefold mystery.

Tell me for I long to know—
How, in darkness there below,
Was your fairy fabric spun,
Spread and fashioned, three in one.

Did your gossips gold and blue,
Sky and Sunshine, choose for you,
Ere your triple forms were seen,
Suited liveries of green?

Can ye, if ye dwelt indeed
Captives of a prison seed,-
Like the Genie, once again
Get you back into the grain?

Little masters, may I stand
In your presence, hat in hand,
Waiting till you solve for me
This your threefold mystery?

THE DEPARTED THEY cannot wholly pass away, How far soe'er above;