The Master had spoken,

Yet, loth to depart,
In silence was standing

And sorrow of heart.

I was weary of life,

And fain had been dead, Yet I thought on the morrow, And shuddered with dread.

I arose with my pain
Of desolate fears,

I felt not the darkness

Nor mist of my tears.

With the numbness of age
And ache of despair

In terror I wrestled

And agonized prayer.

"Lord, Master, receive me,

Oh, give me Thy rest." Wide flew the door open; I sunk on His breast.

And the peace, oh, the peace

In my every part, Within me, around me,

Was heaven to my heart.

TEMPLUM VENERIS.

(CLAUDE.)

Он, for the touch of that deft hand which drew
This stately splendour on the Baian shore,
The dreamy landscape and the waters blue
With azure skies for ever vaulted o’er,
The wealth of drowsy foliage and the store
Of shadows cool, beneath tall, slumb’rous trees,
The sunlit cliffs on distant mountains hoar,
The clouds above, so light and full of ease,
And clear air resonant with summer melodies.

Here slowly wends, amid the ivies cool,
The glad procession, tuneful, laurel-crowned;
And two fair suppliants for the sweet control
Of love half recognized and half disowned,
On timid feet with doves and fruits are bound
To pay the tribute Love demands from all,
Peasant or prince in lofty palace found;

Love met them, in a guise ethereal,

And threw around their breasts his soft yet ruthless thrall.

There, on the marble steps, the wreathed faun

Holds drowsy panthers in his listless thrall;

And, bearing wands with vine leaves deckt at dawn,

The eager suitors mount unto the hall,

Nor heed the pipes that for their worship call;

And on the terrace stand the shrine of Love,
And white-robed priests with praises musical
As spring-time birds within the neighbouring grove,
While Venus and her boy bend lovingly above.

Oh, for that ear to hear, that eye to see
The spirits, moving in the summer air,
To know that gladness such as theirs can be,
And sift the sadness from our landscape fair,
And in all lovely things to have our share;
With ear attuned unto a wakeful eye

To hear the music of the evening star

And all earth's glad and various minstrelsy;

Young lives were always ours, and summer ever by.

IL TEMPORALE DEL POUSSINO.

POUSSIN, thy art has filled the summer air
With ruthless spirits, such as Claude ne'er drew;
The sweet, compassionate and loving care
Of Nature unannoyed he only knew,
And on all things a robe of sunlight threw.
But thou hast summoned from their restless sleep
On seas and arid wastes, a reckless crew

Of unseen monsters; thou hast bid them keep
Fast revels as they list, on field and rocky steep.

Some fill the trees with frenzy uncontrolled
And impulse passionate for their own ill ;
Awhile, a furious carnival they hold,
And then exhausted, passionless and still,
They sink into a stupor, without thrill,

Of shame and self-wrought ruin. Some, more free,
Run riot upon mead and stream and hill,

Or touch with winged fire, in playful glee,

The hoar castel, and laugh the leaping flames to see.

And man is naught amid such awful powers,
His own he learns with every blast anew ;
And, like a slave, he only fears and cowers
To hide in insignificance from view.
The steadfast mountains, they alone are true,
And bare their bosoms to the threatening skies,
Assume defiantly the tempest's hue,

And frown upon the storm that round them flies,

Till from its lowering wrath, all proudly calm, they

THE LOST TRAVELLERS.*

THE day is dark; with frowns I bear
The rude, unseasonable air;

I shrink, I sigh, "Who would not fly
To sunny fields and summer sky?"
And, glancing on the cheerless noon,
I mourn for autumn dead too soon.
Poor waifs of summer wreckage, borne
On surly winter's crest forlorn;

Whence came ye? from the darkening north?
And why so late ye sallied forth?

A nameless terror all behind,

And Death upon the assisting wind.

Your summer home, perchance it grew

In sacred shadows that I knew;

And ye

have seen the scenes that moved

My boyish fancy till I loved;

And ye have heard the sounds that stole

In music to my waking soul.

Like spirits, free to go and come

'Twixt heaven and their once earthly home,

* The autumn of 1885 was exceptionally stormy and inclement, and many belated house-martins perished. Some were seen as late as December 3rd, in East Suffolk, and during the afternoon of October 27th two were noticed flying about the stable. Next morning they were found dead together on the floor beneath a beam in the barn, and my little boy of four years carried them with tears in his eyes to every one about the house to kiss before he consigned them to their grave in his ittle garden.