URANIA. BETH-GÊLERT. SHE smiles and smiles, and will not sigh, THE spearmen heard the bugle sound, While we for hopeless passion die; Yet she could love, those eyes declare, Were but men nobler than they are. And cheerily smiled the morn, And many a brach and many a hound Obeyed Llewelyn's horn. THE PATRIARCH'S LAMENT. H for one draught of those | Where once my spirit worshipped when with sweet waters now That shed such freshness o'er my early life! Oh that I could but bathe my fevered brow, To wash away the dust of worldly strife, And be a simple-hearted child once more, As if I ne'er had known this world's pernicious lore! away. Oh, give me back life's newly-budded flowers, Let me once more inhale the breath of morning's hours! My youth, my youth! Oh, give me back my youth! Not the unfurrowed brow and blooming cheek, But childhood's sunny thoughts, its perfect truth, And youth's unworldly feelings, these I seek. Ah! who could e'er be sinless and yet sage? Would that I might forget Time's dark and blotted page! WA EMMA C. EMBURY. HELEN OF GREECE. AS this the face that launched a thousand ships And burned the topless towers of Ilium? Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss! | Which only Jesu's blood can wash away; Her lips suck forth my soul: see where it And lovely as the life of holiest saint Was his, that good Dominican's who fed His Master's lambs with more than daily bread. The children's custom, while that pious man A small rich chapel was their sanctuary Smiled on his infant guests as there below, On the fair altar-steps, those young ones spread (Nor aught irreverent in such act, I trow) Their simple morning meal of fruit and bread; Too wise for simple pleasure, smiles and Such feast not ill-beseemed the sacred dome: tears, Dream of our earliest, purest, happiest years. Come listen to the legend-for of them. Surely thou art not-and to thee I'll tell How on a time in holiest Santarem Strange circumstance miraculous befell Two little ones who to the sacred shrine Came daily to be schooled in things divine. Twin-sisters, orphan innocents, were they; Most pure, I ween, from all but th' olden taint Their Father's house is the dear children's home. At length it chanced that on a certain day, When Frey Bernardo to the chapel came, Where patiently was ever wont to stay His infant charge, with vehement acclaim Both lisping creatures forth to meet him ran, And each to tell the same strange tale began. "Father," they cried as, hanging on his gown On either side, in each perplexèd ear And if he come, say, 'Bid us, blessed Lord- The mass was said; the evening chant was We and our master-to thy heavenly board.' o'er; Hushed its long echoes through the lofty dome; And now Bernardo knew th' appointed hour That he had prayed for of a truth was come. Alone he lingered in the solemn pile aisle, |