ADSUM

DECEMBER 23-24, 1863

THE Angel came by night
(Such angels still come down),
And like a winter cloud

Passed over London town;
Along its lonesome streets,
Where Want had ceased to weep,
Until it reached a house

Where a great man lay asleep; The man of all his time

Who knew the most of men, The soundest head and heart,

The sharpest, kindest pen. It paused beside his bed,

And whispered in his ear; He never turned his head,

But answered, "I am here."

Into the night they went.

At morning, side by side, They gained the sacred Place Where the greatest Dead abide. Where grand old Homer sits In godlike state benign; Where broods in endless thought The awful Florentine; Where sweet Cervantes walks, A smile on his grave face; Where gossips quaint Montaigne, The wisest of his race; Where Goethe looks through all With that calm eye of his; 'Where little seen but Light The only Shakespeare is! When the new Spirit came, They asked him, drawing near, "Art thou become like us?" He answered, "I am here."

AN OLD SONG REVERSED

"THERE are gains for all our losses.” So I said when I was young.

If I sang that song again,
'T would not be with that refrain,

Which but suits an idle tongue.

Youth has gone, and hope gone with it,
Gone the strong desire for fame.
Laurels are not for the old.
Take them, lads. Give Senex gold.
What's an everlasting name?

"Not under the roots of the roses,
But under the luminous wings
Of the King of kings
The soul of my love reposes,

With the light of morn in her eyes, Where the Vision of Life discloses Life that sleeps not nor dies."

"Under or over the skies
What is it that never dies?
Spirit-if such there be-

Whom no one hath seen nor heard,
We do not acknowledge thee;

For, spoken or written word,
Thou art but a dream, a breath;
Certain is nothing but Death!”

I saw the one I love, and heard her speak, Heard, in the listening watches of the night, The sweet words melting from her sweeter lips:

But what she said, or seemed to say, to me I have forgotten, though, till morning broke, I kept repeating her melodious words. Long, long may Jami's eyes be blest with sleep,

Like that which last night stole him from himself,

That perfect rest which, closing his tired lids, Disclosed the hidden beauty of his love, And, filling his soul with music all the while, Imposed forgetfulness, instructing him That silence is more significant of love Than all the burning words in lovers' songs!