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HERE are more things in Heaven and Earth, than we Can dream of, or than nature understands; We learn not through our poor philosophy What hidden chords are touched by unseen hands.

The present hour repeats upon its strings
Echoes of some vague dream we have forgot;
Dim voices whisper half-remembered things,
And when we pause to listen,—answer not.

Forebodings come: we know not how, or whence,
Shadowing a nameless fear upon the soul,
And stir within our hearts a subtler sense,
Than light may read, or wisdom may control.

And who can tell what secret links of thought
Bind heart to heart? Unspoken things are heard,
As if within our deepest selves was brought
The soul, perhaps, of some unuttered word.

But, though a veil of shadow hangs between
That hidden life, and what we see and hear,
Let us revere the power of the Unseen,
And know a world of mystery is near.



OTHING stirs the sunny silence,— Save the drowsy humming of the bees Round the rich, ripe peaches on the wall, And the south wind sighing in the trees,

And the dead leaves rustling as they fall: While the swallows, one by one, are gathering,

All impatient to be on the wing, And to wander from us, seeking

Their beloved Spring!

Cloudless rise the azure heavens!

Only vaporous wreaths of snowy white Nestle in the grey hill's rugged side;
And the golden woods are bathed in light, Dying, if they must, with kingly pride:

While the swallows in the blue air wheeling,

Circle now an eager fluttering band, Ready to depart and leave us

For a brighter land!

But a voice is sounding sadly,
Telling of a glory that has been;

Of a day that faded all too fast—
See afar through the blue air serene,

Where the swallows wing their way at last, And our hearts perchance, as sadly wandering,

Vainly seeking for a long-lost day,

While we watch the far-off swallows,

Flee with them away! THREE EVENINGS IN A LIFE.


ES, it looked dark and dreary,
That long and narrow street:
Only the sound of the rain,
And the tramp of passing feet,
The duller glow of the fire,

And gathering mists of night
To mark how slow and weary
The long day's cheerless flight!

n. Watching the sullen fire,

Hearing the dismal rain, Drop after drop, run down

On the darkening window-pane: Chill was the heart of Alice,

Chill as that winter day,— For the star of her life had risen

Only to fade away.

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