Sighed Princess Alice as night grew nearer: The terrible hour I wait and dread!" But Princess Gwendoline kissed her, sighing,— "It is only Life that can fear dying; Possible loss means possible gain. Those who still dread, are not quite forsaken; But not to fear, because all is taken, Is the loneliest depth of human pain." HILE AN IDEAL. LE the grey mists of early dawn Were lingering round the hill, And the dew was still upon the flowers, And the earth lay calm and still, A winged Spirit came to me, Noble, and radiant, and free. Folding his blue and shining wings, He laid his hand on mine. I know not if I felt, or heard The mystic word divine, Which woke the trembling air to sighs, The word he spoke, within my heart And cast a spell upon my soul To chain it evermore; Making the cold dull earth look bright, When noon ruled from the heavens, and man My Spirit drooped his shining wings; His voice had ceased, his grace had flown, His hand grew cold within my own. Bitter, oh bitter tears, I wept, Yet still I held his hand, Hoping with vague unreasoning hope: That this pale Spirit never more Could be what he had been before. Could it be so? My heart stood still. I strove; but my despair was vain; Vain, too, was love and pride. Could he have changed to me so soon? Now stars are rising one by one, With tender loving care; He speaks and smiles, but never sings, Long since he lost his shining wings. With thankful, true content, I know Is not a faithful spirit mine Mine still-at close of day? . . . . Yet will my foolish heart repine For that bright morning dream of mine. OUR DEAD. OTHING is our own: we hold our pleasures Just a little while, ere they are fled : One by one life robs us of our treasures ; They are ours, and hold in faithful keeping Cruel life can never stir that sleeping, Cruel time can never seize that prey. Justice pales; truth fades; stars fall from Heaven; No true crown of honour can be given, How the Children leave us: and no traces Linger of that smiling angel band; Weary men and anxious women stand. |