THE HAUNTED CHAMBER.

ACH heart has its haunted chamber, Where the silent moonlight falls ! On the floor are mysterious footsteps, There are whispers along the walls!

And mine at times is haunted
By phantoms of the Past,

As motionless as shadows

By the silent moonlight cast

A form sits by the window
That is not seen by day,

For as soon as the dawn approaches

It vanishes away.

It sits there in the moonlight,

Itself as pale and still,

And points with its airy finger
Across the window-sill.

Without, before the window,

There stands a gloomy pine,

Whose boughs wave upward and downward As wave these thoughts of mine.

And underneath its branches
Is the grave of a little child,
Who died upon life's threshold,
And never wept nor smiled.

What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
That haunt my troubled brain?
That vanish when day approaches,
And at night return again?

What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
But the statues without breath,
That stand on the bridge overarching
The silent river of death?

THE MEETING.

FTER so long an absence
At last we meet again:

Does the meeting give us pleasure,

Or does it give us pain?

The tree of life has been shaken,
And but few of us linger now,
Like the Prophet's two or three berries
In the top of the uppermost bough.

We cordially greet each other

In the old familiar tone;

And we think, though we do not say it, How old and gray he is grown!

We speak of a Merry Christmas
And many a Happy New Year;
But each in his heart is thinking

Of those that are not here.

We speak of friends and their fortunes,
And of what they did and said,
Till the dead alone seem living,

And the living alone seem dead.

And at last we hardly distinguish Between the ghosts and the guests; And a mist and shadow of sadness Steals over our merriest jests.

VOX POPULI.

THEN Mazárvan, the Magician,
Journeyed westward through Ca-

thay,

Nothing heard he but the praises
Of Badoura on his way.

But the lessening rumour ended
When he came to Khaledan,
There the folk were talking only
Of Prince Camaralzaman.

So it happens with the poets:
Every province hath its own;
Camaralzaman is famous

Where Badoura is unknown.