A book of English poetry; ed. by T. Shorter

ron&B 0~ TO BOCJAL AJID DOMJIB'l'IO AFFBCTJOliB. 233

Taou art .not dud; thou art not gone to dust;
No line ofall thy loveline88 shall fall
To formle88 ruin, emote by Time, and thrust
Into the solemn gulf that covers alL

Thou canst not wholly perish, though the &od
Sink with ita viol eta closer to thy brenet;
Though by the fl'et of generntions trod,
The bead-stone crumble from thy place of rest.

I keep for thee the living love of old,

A..lld seek thy place in nu.ture as • child

Whose ha.nu is parted from hie playmates' hold,

Wanders and cl'ies along some dreary wild.

When in the watches of' my heart I hear

The messages of purer life, and know

The footatepa of thy spirit lingering nenr

The darkness bides the way that I should go.

Ca.nlit thou not bid the empty realms restore

That form, the symbol of tby heavenly part 1

Or in the ~elds of barren eile'!ce pour

That vo1ce, the perfect tnUSJt: of thy heart 1

Oh once I once bending to these widO'III''d lips

fake back the tender warmth of life ft·om me;

Oh, let thy kisses cloud with swift eclipse

The light of mine, and give me death with thee 1

BJ.TARD TULOR.

§ana gor(t h)l.

IN the silence of my chamber

When the night is still and deep,

And the drowsy heave of ocean

Mutters in ita charmM Bleep,

on I hear the angel-voices

That have thrill'd me long ago--

Voices of my lost companions,

Lying deep beneath the anow.

I I