"But 't is over; yet I tremble

On what brink of fate I stand;
What prophetic bird of evil

Hovers o'er this sacred land!
What if true should come my dreaming,
And no more my love return!

Ah, the thought my heart's blood freezes,
While my brain with madness burns."

Then she listened, gazing outward
Toward a dim futurity-
And the Nile forever onward

Bears its burdens to the sea; And she catches from its whispers Echoing whispers in her soulThat her reign of love is ended, And her life is near its goal.

J. J. OWENS.

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STORY OF THE GATE.

ACROSS the pathway, myrtle-fringed,
Under the maple, it was hinged
The little wooden gate;

"T was there within the quiet gloam,
When I had strolled with Nelly home,
I used to pause and wait

Before I said to her good-night,
Yet loath to leave the winsome sprite

Within the garden's pale;

And there, the gate between us two,
We'd linger as all lovers do,

And lean upon the rail.

And face to face, eyes close to eyes,
Hands meeting hands in feigned surprise,
After a stealthy quest,

So close I'd bend, ere she 'd retreat,
That I'd grow drunken from the sweet
Tuberose upon her breast.

We'd talk-in fitful style, I ween-
With many a meaning glance between
The tender words and low;

We'd whisper some dear, sweet conceit,
Some idle gossip we'd repeat,

And then I'd move to go.

Good-night," I'd say; "good-night-good-by!"
Good-night' - from her with half a sigh-

"Good-night!" "Good-night!" And then-
And then I do not go, but stand,

Again lean on the railing, and
Begin it all again.

Ah! that was many a day ago
That pleasant summer-time-
The gate is standing yet;
A little cranky, it may be,
A little weather-worn

although

like me

Who never can forget

The happy "End"? My cynic friend,
Pray save your sneers - - there was no "end."
Watch yonder chubby thing!

That is our youngest, hers and mine;
See how he climbs, his legs to twine
About the gate and swing.

Scribner's Magazine.

HARRISON ROBERTSON.

IN THE HAMMOCK.

THE lazy, languid breezes sweep
Across a fluttered crowd of leaves;
The shadows fall so dim, so deep,
Ah, love, 't is good to dream and sleep
Where nothing jars or nothing grieves.

My love she lies at languid ease

Across her silken hammock's length;
Her stray curls flutter in the breeze
That moves amidst the sunlit trees,

And stirs their gold with mimic strength.

So calm, so still, the drowsy noon;
So sweet, so fair, the golden day;
Too sweet that it should turn so soon
From set of sun to rising moon,
And fade and pass away.

Her eyes are full of happy dreams,
And languid with unuttered bliss;
The calm of unstirred mountain streams,
The light of unforgotten scenes,
Live in her thoughts of that or this.

A year, a month, a week, a day;

The meaning of some look or word,
Swift, sudden as a sunbeam's ray,
Do these across her memory stray
As if again she looked or heard?

It may be so.

I would it were,

For I who love and she who dreams; The world to me is only her.

Can my heart's cry to pity stir

Her heart that silent seems?

O deep eyes, lose your gentle calm;
O fair cheek, lose your tint of rose;
O heart, beat swift with love's alarm,
That I may win with chain and charm,
And hold you till life close.

Lo, sweet, I stand, and gaze and faint
Beneath the wonder of your eyes,
Whose beauty I can praise and paint
Till words and fancy lose restraint,
And fear forgotten dies.

London Society.

THE RING'S MOTTO.

A LOVER gave the wedding ring
Into the goldsmith's hand;
"Grave me," he said, "a tender thought
Within the golden band."

The goldsmith graved

With careful art,

"Till death us part."

The wedding bell rang gladly out;
The husband said, "O wife,

66

Together we shall share the grief,
The happiness of life.

I give to thee

My hand, my heart,
Till death us part."

'T was she that lifted now his hand,
(O love, that this should be!)
Then on it placed the golden band,
And whispered tenderly:

"Till death us join,

Lo, thou art mine,

And I am thine.

"And when death joins, we nevermore

Shall know an aching heart,

The bridal of that better love

Death has no power to part.
That troth will be,
For thee and me,
Eternity."

So up the hill and down the hill,
Through fifty changing years,
They shared each other's happiness,
They dried each other's tears.
Alas, alas,

That death's cold dart

Such love can part!

But one sad day

she stood alone

Beside his narrow bed;

She drew the ring from off her hand,
And to the goldsmith said:

"O man who graved

With careful art,

'Till death us part,'

"Now grave four other words for me,

'Till death us join.'

He took

The precious golden band once more,

With solemn, wistful look,

And wrought with care,

For love, not coin,
"Till death us join."

ASKING.

HE stole from my bodice a rose,
My cheek was its color the while;
But, ah, the sly rogue! he well knows,
Had he asked it, I must have said no.

He snatched from my lips a soft kiss;
I tried at a frown-'t was a smile;
For, ah, the sly rogue! he knows this:

Had he asked it, I must have said no.

That "asking" in love's a mistake,
It puts one in mind to refuse;

'Tis best not to ask, but to take;
For it saves one the need to say no.

Yet, stay

this is folly I've said;

Some things should be asked if desired; My rogue hopes my promise to wed; When he asks me, I will not say no.

She dressed like a royal princess,
She wore her hair in a curl;
The gossips said, "What a pity
That she's such a frivolous girl!'

(TWENTY YEARS LATER.)

She's a wife, a mother, a woman,
Grand, noble, and pure as a pearl;

While the gossips say, "Would you think it,
Of only a frivolous girl?"

Steubenville Herald.

WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS.

Is love contagious?—I don't know;
But this I am prepared to say,
That I have felt for many a day
A great desire to make it so.

Does she vouchsafe a thought of me?
Sometimes I think she does; and then
I'm forced to grope in doubt again,
Which seems my normal state to be.