I love the Stars like friends; so many nights I gazed at them, when you were far from me, Till I grew blind with tears those far off lights Could watch you, whom I longed in vain to see. I love the Flowers; happy hours lie Shut up within their petals close and fast: You have forgotten, dear: but they and I Keep every fragment of the golden Past. I love, too, to be loved; all loving praise Still nearer to your own the heart you take. I love all good and noble souls ;—I heard In tender memory of such generous praise. I love all those who love you; all who owe Even for those poorer hearts who once could know, Well, is my heart so narrow-I, who spare Love for all these? Do I not even hold My favourite books in special tender care, The Poets that you used to read to me Will you be jealous? Did you guess before Oh, more a thousand times than all the rest! THE STORY OF THE FAITHFUL SOUL. FOUNDED ON AN OLD FRENCH LEGEND. HE fettered Spirits linger In purgatorial pain, With penal fires effacing Their last faint earthly stain, Had tried to cleanse in vain. Yet, on each feast of Mary Their sorrow finds release, And the name of these brief respites Yet once-so runs the Legend - And all these holy spirits Rejoiced at Mary's name; One voice alone was wailing, Still wailing on the same. And though a great Te Deum Through the sweet voices broke ; So when St. Michael questioned Thus the poor spirit spoke : "I am not cold or thankless, I prize our Lady's blessing Or quench my ceaseless pain. "On earth a heart that loved me, Still lives and mourns me there, And the shadow of his anguish Is more than I can bear; All the torment that I suffer Is the thought of his despair. "The evening of my bridal A whole year since that day. "If I could only see him,— And speak one word of comfort Thus the Archangel answered:- So much outweighs your grief, |