Shall never light on a prouder sitter,
A fairer nestful, nor ever know
A softer sound than their tender twitter,
That wind-like did come and go.

I had a nestful once of my own,
Ah, happy, happy I!
Right dearly I loved them; but when
they were grown

They spread out their wings to fly.
O, one after one they flew away,

Far up to the heavenly blue,
To the better country, the upper day,
And I wish I was going too.

I pray you, what is the nest to me,
My empty nest?

And what is the shore where I stood to

AFTER THE RAIN.

283

THE rain has ceased, and in my room
The sunshine pours an airy flood;
And on the church's dizzy vane
The ancient Cross is bathed in blood.

From out the dripping ivy-leaves, Antiquely carven, gray and high, A dormer, facing westward, looks Upon the village like an eye:

And now it glimmers in the sun, A square of gold, a disk, a speck : And in the belfry sits a Dove With purple ripples on her neck.

PISCATAQUA RIVER.

THOU singest by the gleaming isles,
By woods, and fields of corn,
Thou singest, and the heaven smiles
Upon my birthday morn.

But I within a city, I,

So full of vague unrest, Would almost give my life to lie An hour upon thy breast!

To let the wherry listless go, And, wrapt in dreamy joy, Dip, and surge idly to and fro, Like the red harbor-buoy;

To sit in happy indolence,

To rest upon the oars, And catch the heavy earthy scents That blow from summer shores;

To see the rounded sun go down,
And with its parting fires
Light up the windows of the town
And burn the tapering spires;

And then to hear the muffled tolls
From steeples slim and white,
And watch, among the Isles of Shoals,
The Beacon's orange light.

O River! flowing to the main

Through woods, and fields of corn,

And I galloped and I galloped on my palfrey white as milk, My robe was of the sea-green woof, my

serk was of the silk;

My hair was golden-yellow, and it floated to my shoe;

My eyes were like two harebells bathed in little drops of dew; My palfrey, never stopping, made a music sweetly blent With the leaves of autumn dropping all

around me as I went; And I heard the bells, grown fainter, far behind me peal and play, Fainter, fainter, fainter, till they seemed to die away;

And beside a silver runnel, on a little

heap of sand,

I saw the green gnome sitting, with his cheek upon his hand.

Then he started up to see me, and he ran with a cry and bound, And drew me from my palfrey white and set me on the ground.

O crimson, crimson were his locks, his face was green to see, But he cried, "O light-haired lassie, you are bound to marry me!" He clasped me round the middle small, he kissed me on the cheek,

He kissed me once, he kissed me twice, I could not stir or speak;

He kissed me twice, he kissed me thrice; I called aloud upon the name of Him but when he kissed again, who died for men.

Sing, sing! ring, ring! pleasant Sabbath bells!

Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! through dales and dells!

Rhyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant Sabbath bells!

Chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and fells!

O faintly, faintly, faintly, calling men and maids to pray,

So faintly, faintly, faintly rang the bells

far away;

And as I named the Blessed Name, as in our need we can,

The ugly green gnome became a tall and comely man:

His hands were white, his beard was gold, his eyes were black as sloes, His tunic was of scarlet woof, and silken were his hose;

A

pensive light from faeryland still lingered on his cheek,

His

voice was like the running brook when he began to speak: "O, you have cast away the charm my step-dame put on me, Seven years have I dwelt in Faeryland, O, I will mount thy palfrey white, and and you have set me free.

ride to kirk with thee,

And, by those dewy little eyes, we twain

will wedded be!"

bath bells!

Chime, sing rhyme, ring! over fields

and fells!

E. C. STEDMAN.

[U. S. A.]

THE DOORSTEP.

THE Conference-meeting through at last,
We boys around the vestry waited
To see the girls come tripping past,
Like snowbirds willing to be mated.

Not braver he that leaps the wall

By level musket-flashes litten, Than 1, who stepped before them all, Who longed to see me get the mitten.

But no; she blushed, and took my arm! We let the old folks have the highway, And started toward the Maple Farm Along a kind of lover's by-way.

I can't remember what we said,

'T was nothing worth a song or story, Yet that rude path by which we sped Seemed all transformed, and in a glory.

The snow was crisp beneath our feet, The moon was full, the fields were gleaming;

By hood and tippet sheltered sweet, Her face with youth and health was beaming.

The little hand outside her muff—
O sculptor, if you could but mould it!--
So lightly touched my jacket-cuff,

To keep it warm I had to hold it.

To have her with me there alone, "T was love and fear and triumph blended.

At last we reached the foot-worn stone Where that delicious journey ended.

The old folks, too, were almost home; Her dimpled hand the latches fingered, We heard the voices nearer come,

Yet on the doorstep still we lingered.

And with a "Thank you, Ned," dissembled ;

But yet I knew she understood

With what a daring wish I trembled.

A cloud passed kindly overhead,
The moon was slyly peeping through it,
Yet hid its face, as if it said,

"Come, now or never! do it! do it!"

My lips till then had only known
The kiss of mother and of sister,
But somehow, full upon her own
Sweet, rosy, darling mouth, I kissed
her!

Perhaps 't was boyish love, yet still,
O listless woman, weary lover!
To feel once more that fresh, wild thrill
I'd give But who can live youth
over?

PAN IN WALL STREET.

A. D. 1867.

JUST where the Treasury's marble front Looks over Wall Street's mingled na

tions,

Where Jews and Gentiles most are wont To throng for trade and last quota

tions, Where, hour by hour, the rates of gold Outrival, in the ears of people, The quarter-chimes, serenely tolled

From Trinity's undaunted steeple ;

Even there I heard a strange, wild strain Sound high above the modern clamor, Above the cries of greed and gain,

The curbstone war, the auction's hammer,

And swift, on Music's misty ways,

It led, from all this strife for millions, To ancient, sweet-do-nothing days Among the kirtle-robed Sicilians.

And as it stilled the multitude,
And yet more joyous rose, and shriller,
I saw the minstrel where he stood
At ease against a Doric pillar:
One hand a droning organ played,
The other held a Pan's-pipe (fashioned
Like those of old) to lips that made
The reeds give out that strain impas-
sioned.