"No formless Future blurs the sky;
Men mourn not here, with dull dead eye,
By shrouded shapes of Yesterday;
Betwixt the Coming and the Past
The flawless life hangs fixen fast

In one unwearying To-Day,
That darkens not; for Sin is shriven,
Death from the doors is thrust away,
And here is Heaven."

At "Heaven" she ceased ;-and lifted up
Her fair head like a flower-cup,

With rounded mouth, and eyes aglow;
Then set I lips to hers, and felt,-
Ah, God,-the hard pain fade and melt,
And past things change to painted show;
The song of quiring birds outbroke;

The lit leaves laughed,―sky shook, and lo, I swooned, and woke.

And now, O Flowers,

-Ye that indeed are dead,—
Now for all waiting hours,

Well am I comforted;
For of a surety, now, I see,

That, without dim distress
Of tears, or weariness,

My Lady, verily, awaiteth me;
So that until with Her I be,

For my dear Lady's sake
I am right fain to make
Out from my pain a pillow, and to take
Grief for a golden garment unto me;
Knowing that I, at last, shall stand
In that green garden-land,

And, in the holding of my dear Love's hand,
Forget the grieving and the misery.

THE DYING OF TANNEGUY DU BOIS.

"En los nidas antaño no hay pajaros hogaño." LAST WORDS OF DON QUIXOTE.

EA, I am passed away, I think, from this; Nor helps me herb, nor any leechcraft here, But lift me hither the sweet cross to kiss,

YEA

.

And witness ye, I go without a fear. Yea, I am sped, and never more shall see,

As once I dreamed, the show of shield and crest, Gone southward to the fighting by the sea ;— There is no bird in any last year's nest!

Yea, with me now all dreams are done, I ween,
Grown faint and unremembered; voices call
High up, like misty warders dimly seen

Moving at morn on some Burgundian wall; And all things swim-as when the charger stands

Quivering between the knees, and East and West Are filled with flash of scarves and waving hands ;— There is no bird in any last year's nest!

Is she a dream I left in Acquitaine ?—

My wife Giselle,—who never spoke a word,

Although I knew her mouth was drawn with pain,

Her eyelids hung with tears; and though I heard
The strong sob shake her throat, and saw the cord
Her necklace made about it;—she that prest
To watch me trotting till I reached the ford ;—
There is no bird in any last year's nest!

Ah! I had hoped, God wot,—had longed that she
Should watch me from the little-lit tourelle,
Me, coming riding by the windy lea—

Me, coming back again to her, Giselle;
Yea, I had hoped once more to hear him call,

The curly-pate, who, rushen lance in rest, Stormed at the lilies by the orchard wall;There is no bird in any last year's nest !

But how, my Masters, ye are wrapt in gloom!

This Death will come, and whom he loves he cleaves

Sheer through the steel and leather; hating whom He smites in shameful wise behind the greaves. 'Tis a fair time with Dennis and the Saints,

And weary work to age, and want for rest, When harness groweth heavy, and one faints, With no bird left in any last year's nest ! Give ye good hap, then, all. For me, I lie

Broken in Christ's sweet hand, with whom shall rest

To keep me living, now that I must die ;—

There is no bird in any last year's nest!

THE MOSQUE OF THE CALIPH.

ΝΤΟ Seyd the vizier spake the Caliph Abdallah :"Now hearken and hear, I am weary, by Allah! I am faint with the mere over-running of leisure; I will rouse me and rear up a palace to Pleasure !"

To Abdallah the Caliph spake Seyd the vizier :
"All faces grow pale if my Lord draweth near;
And the breath of his mouth not a mortal shall scoff it ;-
They must bend and obey, by the beard of the Prophet!"

ness;

Drained out the last bead of the wine in the chalice: "I have spoken, O Seyd; I will build it, my palace!

Then the Caliph that heard, with becoming sedateness, Drew his hand down his beard as he thought of his great

"As a drop from the wine where the wine-cup hath spilled it,

As a gem from the mine, O my Seyd, I will build it; Without price, without flaw, it shall stand for a token That the word is a law which the Caliph hath spoken!"