Swung round the dome of night Some hidden evil would burst on me soon. My lady's love has pass'd away, That body lies in cold decay, My words now sting like shame; Her spirit went, and mine did not obey. It was as if a fiery dart Pass'd seething through my brain There whence in life she did not part. Suck'd hollows in her cheek, Though oft they'd open wide with sudden start. The deathly power in silence drew My lady's life away. I watch'd, dumb with dismay, The shock of thrills that quiver'd through For grief my eyes grew dim; More near, more near, the moment grew. O giddy impotence! I saw her fingers lax, and change their hue. Her gaze, grown large with fate, was cast Made more sad her sad eyes: Her breath caught with short plucks and fast: Then one hot choking strain. Her love one moment shone, Then slowly closed, and hope for ever pass'd. Silence seem'd to start in space When first the bell's harsh toll I dropp'd, in a dead swoon, And lay a long time cold upon my face. Earth had one quarter turn'd before Press'd on with its whole weight. The sun's keen cruel glare; It seem'd not warm as heretofore. Will satisfy my gaze. No more; no more; oh, never any more. AN END. Taken from the Germ. LOVE, strong as death, is dead. Come, let us make his bed Among the dying flowers: A green turf at his head; In the quiet evening hours. He was born in the spring, To few chords, and sad, and low, Be our eyes fixed on the grass, SONG. By BARRY CORNWALL. SING no more! Thy heart is cross'd Sing no more! They lute has lost Its one sweet string. The music of the heart and lute Are mute-are mute! Laugh no more! The earth hath taught A false, fond strain: Laugh no more! Thy soul hath caught The pleasures of the world are known, Weep no more! The fiercest pains Were love, were pride: Weep no more! The world's strong chains Are cast aside. And all the war of life must cease, In peace,-in peace! A SPINNING-WHEEL SONG. By J. F. WALLER. MELLOW the moonlight to shine is beginning; 66 ""Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass flapping." Eileen, I surely hear somebody sighing." 66 ""Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer wind dying." Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring; Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. "What's that noise that I hear at the window, I wonder?" ""Tis the little birds chirping the hollybush under." "What makes you be shoving and moving your stool on, And singing all wrong that old song of The Coolun'?"— There's a form at the casement-the form of her true love And he whispers, with face bent, "I'm waiting for you, love; Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring; Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays her fingers, Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's sound; The maid steps-then leaps to the arms of her lover. Ere the reel and the wheel stopp'd their ringing and moving, Thro' the grove the young lovers by moonlight are roving. TO MY WIFE. WITH A PRESENT OF A RING ON OUR WEDDING-DAY. From an old number of the Gentleman's Magazine. Here, then, to-day (with faith as sure, A GRAVE IN THE WILD WOOD. OH! bury me not in the sunless tomb, Where the bones of the scarce-remember'd dead |