So that her high-born kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me,

Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we,

Of many far wiser than we;

And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee,

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling-my darling-my life and my bride,

In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

A DEATH BED.

HER sufferings ended with the day,

Yet lived she at its close,

And breathed the long, long night away,
In statue-like repose.

But when the sun, in all his state,

Illumed the eastern skies,

She pass'd through Glory's morning-gate,

And walk'd in Paradise!

PROMOTED.

JAMES ALDRICH.

HIS was the swiftest foot, the merriest eye,
His laugh the lightest, his the truest heart,

Of all the boys who thronged our shady street.

The strength of his lithe limbs seemed measure

less;

The courage of his loving, brave, young heart
Was like a star, undimmed by cloud or storm.
And I had said,-I,-in my dull, blind way,

“I shall be never lonely, never sad."

One day, the sun shone bright,-I know not why,

A pierced hand knocked at my vine-clad door,
A form, majestic, stood within my room.
Alas! I knew that voice, those tear-dimmed eyes,
And trembled. But my child, pressed to his side,
Followed the tender calling, and has gone.

And now my boy, my little boy, knows more
Than poets dream, or wisest teachers tell.
No mortal eyes can see what his have seen,
No ear can catch the music that he hears.
For he, whose mirth filled all my quiet house,
Is standing with the singing seraphim ;
But I am blinded with these rushing tears
To think that he is there,-and I am here.

MARY S. BACON.

NOT LOST.

YES, cross in rest the little, snow-white hands.
Do you not see the lips so faintly red

With love's last kiss? Their sweetness has
not fled,

Though now you say her sinless spirit stands,
Within the pale of God's bright summer lands.

Gather the soft hair round the dainty head
As in past days. Who says that she is dead,
And nevermore will heed the old commands?
To your cold idols cling, I know she sleeps;

That her pure soul is not by vexed winds tost Along the pathless altitudes of space. This life but sows the seed, from which one reaps The future's harvest. No, I have not lost The glory and the gladness of her face.

THOMAS S. COLLIER.

KENSAL GREEN,

(October 23, 1890.)

WITH what sorrow, with what sadness,

Laid we one whose heart was gladness
Underneath the gentle sod.

Silver mist and birches true

Wept for him their tears of dew,

Wept for him their tears of dew.

Slowly, sadly we departed;

One was dead, one broken-hearted,
In this graveyard old.

Silver mist and birches true

Wept for both their tears of dew,

Wept for both their tears of dew.

A. W. DRAKE.

WHEN THE BABY DIED.

WHEN the baby died,

On every side

White lilies and blue violets were strewn ;

Unreasoning, the mother's heart made moan: "Who counted all these flowers which have grown Unhindered in their bloom?

Was there not room,

O Earth, and God, couldst thou not care

For mine a little longer? Fare

Thy way, O Earth! All life, all death
For me ceased with my baby's breath;
All Heaven I forgot or doubt.
Within, without,

Is idle chance, more pitiless than law."
And that was all the mother saw.

When the baby died,

On every side

Rose stranger's voices, hard and harsh and loud. The baby was not wrapped in any shroud.

The mother made no sound. Her head was bowed That men's eyes might not see

Her misery ;

But in her bitter heart she said,
"Ah me! 'tis well that he is dead,
My boy for whom there was no food.
If there were God, and God were good,
All human hearts at last might keep
The right to weep

Their dead. There is no God, but cruel law."
And that was all the mother saw.

When the baby died,

On every side

Swift angels came in shining, singing bands,
And bore the little one, with gentle hands,

Into the sunshine of the Spirit Land;

And Christ the Shepherd said,

"Let them be led

In gardens nearest to the earth.