Bought by wounds and deeds of daring,
Honors he had brought away;

Glory crowned his name—
- my Brother's;
Mine too!- we were one that day.
Since the crown on him had fallen,

"VICTOR IN A NOBLE STRIFE, I could live and die contented With my poor ignoble life.

Well, my darling, almost weary
Wait awhile;

Of my story?

For the rest is only joyful;

I can tell it with a smile.

One bright promise still was left me,
Wound so close about my soul,

That, as one by one had failed me,

This dream now absorbed the whole.

"SINGER OF A NOBLE POEM,"

Ah, my darling, few and rare Burn the glorious names of Poets, Like stars in the purple air. That too, and I glory in it,

That great gift my Godfrey won; I have my dear share of honor, Gained by that beloved one.

One day shall my darling read it;
Now she cannot understand
All the noble thoughts that lighten
Through the genius of the land.
I am proud to be his brother,

Proud to think that hope was true;
Though I longed and strove so vainly,
What I failed in, he could do.

I was long before I knew it,
Longer ere I felt it so;

Then I strung my rhymes together
Only for the poor and low.

And, it pleases me to know it,

(For I love them well indeed,) They care for my humble verses, Fitted for their humble need.

And, it cheers my heart to hear it,
Where the far-off settlers roam,
My poor words are sung and cherished,
Just because they speak of Home.
And the little children sing them,
(That, I think, has pleased me best,)
Often, too, the dying love them,
For they tell of Heaven and rest.

So my last vain dream has faded;
(Such as I to think of fame!)
Yet I will not say it failed me,
For it crowned my Godfrey's name.
No; my Angel did not cheat me,
For my long life has been blest;
He did give me Love and Sorrow,
He will bring me Light and Rest.

B

A WOMAN'S QUESTION.

EFORE I trust my Fate to thee,
Or place my hand in thine,
Before I let thy Future give

Color and form to mine,

Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul tonight for me.

I break all slighter bonds, nor feel
A shadow of regret:

Is there one link within the Past
That holds thy spirit yet?

Or is thy Faith as clear and free as that which I can pledge to thee?

Does there within thy dimmest dreams
A possible future shine,

Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,

Untouched, unshared by mine?

If so, at any pain or cost, O, tell me before all is lost.

Look deeper still. If thou canst feel

Within thy inmost soul,

That thou hast kept a portion back,

While I have staked the whole;

Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy tell me so.

Is there within thy heart a need
That mine cannot fulfil ?

One chord that any other hand

Could better wake or still?

Speak now-lest at some future day my whole life wither and decay.

Lives there within thy nature hid
The demon-spirit Change,
Shedding a passing glory still

On all things new and strange ?

It may not be thy fault alone - but shield my heart against thy own.

Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day
And answer to my claim,

That Fate, and that to-day's mistake

Not thou had been to blame?

Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou wilt surely warn and save me now.

Nay, answer not, -I dare not hear,
The words would come too late;
Yet I would spare thee all remorse,

So, comfort thee, my Fate

Whatever on my heart may fall-remember, I would risk it all!

THE THREE RULERS.

SAW a Ruler take his stand
And trample on a mighty land;
The People crouched before his beck,
His iron heel was on their neck,

His name shone bright through blood and pain, His sword flashed back their praise again.

I saw another Ruler rise:

His words were noble, good, and wise;
With the calm sceptre of his pen

He ruled the minds and thoughts of men:
Some scoffed, some praised,-while many heard,
Only a few obeyed his word.

Another Ruler then I saw :

Love and sweet Pity were his law;
The greatest and the least had part
(Yet most the unhappy) in his heart:
The People, in a mighty band,
Rose up, and drove him from the land!

A DEAD PAST.

PARE her at least: look, you have taken from me

The Present, and I murmur not, nor

moan;

The Future too, with all her glorious promise;
But do not leave me utterly alone.

Sparc me the Past: for, see, she cannot harm you, She lies so white and cold, wrapped in her shroud; All, all my own! and, trust me, I will hide her Within my soul, nor speak to her aloud.