Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought,
Love gives itself, but is not bought;

Nor voice nor sound betrays

Its deep, impassioned gaze.

It comes, the beautiful, the free,
The crown of all humanity,—

In silence and alone

To seek the elected one.

It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, And kisses the closed eyes

Of him who slumbering lies.

O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes!
O drooping souls, whose destinies

Are fraught with fear and pain!
Ye shall be loved again.

No one is so accursed by fate,

No one so utterly desolate,

But some heart, though unknown,

Responds unto his own.

Responds, -as if with unseen wings
An angel touched its quivering strings;
And whispers, in its song,

"Where hast thou stayed so long?"

R

240

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought!

ENDYMION.

THE rising Moon has hid the stars;
Her level rays, like golden bars,
Lie on the landscape green,
With shadows brown between.

And silver white the river gleams,
As if Diana, in her dreams,

Had dropt her silver bow
Upon the meadows low.

On such a tranquil night as this,
She woke Endymion with a kiss,
When, sleeping in the grove,
He dreamed not of her love.

THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR.

FROM THE GERMAN OF PFIZER.

A YOUTH, light-hearted and content,
I wander through the world;
Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent,
And straight again is furled.

Yet oft I dream that once a wife
Close in my heart was locked,
And in the sweet repose of life
A blessed child I rocked.

I wake! Away that dream,-away!
Too long did it remain !

So long, that both by night and day

It ever comes again.

The end lies ever in my thought;
To a grave so cold and deep
The mother beautiful was brought;
Then dropt the child asleep.

But now the dream is wholly o'er,

I bathe mine eyes and see;

And wander through the world once more,

A youth so light and free.

Two locks, and they are wondrous fair,

Left me that vision mild;

The brown is from the mother's hair,

The blond is from the child.

And when I see that lock of gold,
Pale grows the evening-red;
And when the dark lock I behold,
I wish that I were dead.

IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY.

NO HAY PÁJAROS EN LOS NIDOS DE ANTAÑO.

Spanish Proverb.

THE sun is bright, the air is clear,
The darting swallows soar and sing,
And from the stately elms I hear
The blue-bird prophesying Spring.

So blue yon winding river flows,
It seems an outlet from the sky,
Where waiting till the west wind blows,
The freighted clouds at anchor lie.

All things are new;-the buds, the leaves, That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, And even the nest beneath the eaves;—

There are no birds in last year's nest!