So, when the arena rings with plaudits loud,

Hear my heart's whisper through the noisy throng;

And let thy fancies, running o'er the crowd,

Pause where the rites of gratitude belong.

For I have been a mother to thy fame,
Coaxing with gentle touch the grasp of Fate;
Till, holding high the blazon of thy name,
I cried to all the world, "He shall be great!"

A WOMAN'S PRAYER.

FATHER of great mercy! hear me mildly:
One I love is tried and hindered sore;
For the harrows of temptation wildly
Tear his green and blooming purpose o'er.

Send thine angels, as the Spring her beauties Rains on thorny branches wild and sear, Lighting up Life's worn and wintry duties. With the glories they were made to bear.

Send them in the panoply of heaven
Like a cohort sheathed in burnished gold;
Send them thick as falling dews of even
With soft arms to shelter and infold.

Send them, while I coin my life as ransom
For the holy triumph they must win;
Take the uncounted pulses of my bosom;
Keep the thing I love from deadly sin.

Slow the answer gathers, "Stay thy pleading;
From his birth my help around him lies:
He, the angel in his breast unheeding,

Should escape the legions of the skies."

THE LAST BIRD.

LITTLE Bird that singest

Far atop this warm December day,

Heaven bestead thee, that thou wingest,

Ere the welcome song is done, thy way

To more certain weather,

Where, built high and solemnly, the skies, Shaken by no storm together,

Fixed in vaults of steadfast sapphire rise!

There the smile that mocks us

Answers with its warm serenity;

There the prison-ice that locks us

Melts forgotten in a purple sea.

There thy tuneful brothers,

In the palm's green plumage waiting long, Mate them with the myriad others, Like a broken rainbow bound with song.

Winter scarce is hidden,

Veiled within this fair, deceitful sky:
Fly, ere, from his ambush bidden,
He descend in ruin swift and nigh!

By the Summer stately,

Truant, thou wast fondly reared and bred : Dost thou linger here so lately, Knowing not thy beauteous friend is dead,

Like to hearts, that, clinging

Fervent where their first delight was fed, Move us with untimely singing

Of the hopes whose blossom-time is sped?