Spare her, immortals, spare,
Till all our days are done—
Your heaven is full of angel forms,
Mine holds but one.

A GARDEN IDYLL.

E have loiter'd and laugh'd in the flowery

croft,

We have met under wintry skies;

Her voice is the dearest voice, and soft
Is the light in her wistful eyes;

It is sweet in the silent woods, among
Gay crowds, or in any place

To hear her voice, to gaze on her young
Confiding face.

For ever may roses divinely blow,

And wine-dark pansies charm

By the prim box-path where I felt the glow

Of her dimpled, trusting arm;

And the sweep of her silk as she turn'd and smil'd,

A smile as fair as her pearls;

The breeze was in love with the darling child,
As it moved her curls.

She show'd me her ferns and woodbine sprays,

Foxglove and jasmine stars,

A mist of blue in the beds, a blaze

Of red in the celadon jars :

And velvety bees in convolvulus bells,
And roses of bountiful June-

Oh, who would think that summer spells
Could die so soon!

For a glad song came from the milking-shed,
On a wind of that summer south,

And the green was golden above her head,
And a sunbeam kiss'd her mouth ;

Sweet were the lips where that sunbeam dwelt—
And the wings of Time were fleet

As I gazed; and neither spoke, for we felt
Life was so sweet!

And the odorous limes were dim above
As we leant on a drooping bough;
And the darkling air was a breath of love,
And a witching thrush sang "Now!"
For the sun dropt low, and the twilight grew
As we listen'd, and sigh'd, and leant-
That day was the sweetest day—and we knew
What the sweetness meant.

FREDERICK LOCKER.

NOVEMBER SNOW.

HE snow upon the rose-flow'r sits,
And whitens all the spray;

Sweet Robin Redbreast o'er it flits,
And shakes the snow away.

The snow upon my life-bloom sits,
And sheds a dreary blight:
Thy spirit o'er my spirit flits,
And crimson comes for white.

EARL OF SOUTHESK.

DAWN.

LILY, with the sun of heaven's

Prime splendour on thy breast!
My scattered passions toward thee run,
Poising to awful rest.

The darkness of our universe

Smothered my soul in night;

Thy glory shone; whereat the curse
Passed molten into light.

Raised over envy; freed from pain ;
Beyond the storms of chance :
Blessed king of my own world I reign,
Controlling circumstance.

THOMAS WOOLNER.