This poem has passed in American books of selections as having been written by an unknown "R. Garrett," this being mainly the consequence of an error in editing the little book called "Sea and Shore," some twenty years ago. It now, however, appears as the work of a man dear to many Americans, Dr. Richard Garnett, late of the British museum.

The stream was smooth as glass. We said: "Arise, and let's away."

The Siren sang beside the boat that in the rushes lay,

And spread the sail and strong the oar, we gayly took our way. When shall the sandy bar be crost? When shall we find the bay?

The broadening flood swells slowly out o'er cattle dotted plains ;

The stream is strong and turbulent, and dark with heavy rains; The laborer looks up to see our shallop speed away.

When shall the sandy bar be crost? When shall we find the bay?

Now are the clouds like fiery shrouds; the sun, superbly large, Slow as an oak to woodman's stroke, sinks flaming at their

marge;

The waves are bright with mirror'd light as jacinths on our

way.

When shall the sandy bar be crost? When shall we find the

bay?

The moon is high up in the sky, and now no more we see
The spreading river's either bank, and surging distantly
There booms a sudden thunder as of breakers far away;
Now shall the sandy bar be crost, now shall we find the bay!

The seagull shrieks high overhead, and dimly to our sight The moonlit crests of foaming waves gleam towering through the night.

We'll steal upon the mermaid soon, and start her from her lay, When once the sandy bar is crost and we are in the bay.

What rises white and awful as a shroud enfolded ghost? What roar of rampant tumult bursts in clangor on the coast? Pull back! pull back! The raging flood sweeps every oar away. O stream, is this thy bar of sand? O boat, is this the bay?

NEARER HOME.

BY PHOEBE CARY.

Phoebe Cary, sister of Alice Cary, was born in Hamilton County, near Cincinnati, Sept. 24, 1824; died in Newport, R. I., July 31, 1871. Her educational advantages were superior to those of Alice, whose constant companion she was through life. "Nearer Home" was written when she was 18 years old. Intense sorrow for her sister, whom she survived, doubtless hastened her death.

Nearer the bound of life,

Where we lay our burdens down; Nearer leaving the cross,

Nearer gaining the crown!

But lying darkly between,

Winding down through the night, Is the silent, unknown stream,

That leads us at length to the light.

Closer and closer my steps

Come to the dread abysm;

Closer Death to my lips

Presses the awful chrism.

O, if my mortal feet

Have almost gained the brink;

If it be I am nearer home
Even today than I think;

Father, perfect my trust;

Let my spirit feel in death
That her feet are firmly set
On the rock of a living faith!

William Blake was born at London in 1757; he died there in 1827. He is well known among children for his "Songs of Innocence." Other of his works are: "Book of Thel," the "Marriage of Heaven and Earth," "Gates of Paradise," "Songs of Experience." He was also a painter and an engraver, and among his best work in that line are his illustra tions to Blair's "Grave," and to the book of Job.

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?