PRIZE QUOTATIONS. Cash prizes to the amount of Three Hundred Dollars will be awarded by the Publisher to the persons who will name the author of the greatest number of the Prize Quotations. Rules for Competitors may be found on another page. 69. Because she looked upon the land with me, Because she looked upon it with her eyes, It seemed to me a land of sweetest guise, From savage mountain top to savage sea. 70. Ah! now I know why fair young days were dark, I had not reached thy being's larger arc, Nor worn, as thy great gift, Love's sacred crown. 71. Play not the niggard; spurn thy native clod, Live to thy neighbor, live unto thy God, 72. Nature lives on, though king or statesman dies; So brief, so transient, seem to emphasize 73. Hail, Prince of Peace! hail, King of Kings! 74. These are the men, The men who cleave, with sturdy stroke, A fallen giant's heart of oak, Now build for life, and life's demands, And fill with bread the waiting hands. 75. We love our dead, and hold their memories dear; 76. What silence we keep year after year, With those who are most near to us and dear: We live beside each other day by day, And speak of myriad things, but seldom say The full, sweet word that lies just in our reach Beneath the commonplace or common speech. 77. Work is the holiest thing in earth or heaven; To lift from souls the sorrow and the curse, This dear employment must to us be given, While there is want in God's great universe. 78. But ever I hear an undertone A subtle, sorrowful, wordless moan; 79. What will it matter by and by, 80. No generous action can delay Or thwart our higher, steadier aims, But if sincere and true are they, It will arouse our sight and nerve our frames. A bird sang on the swinging vine,— And then, sang not; I took your little white hand in mine; 'Twas April; 'twas Sunday; 'twas warm sunshine,Yes! warm sunshine: Have you forgot? 82. Deaf to the roar are those who make their home Blind are these eyes, except they note some change 83. Thou art thyself thine enemy! The great!--what better they than thou? As theirs, is not thy will as free? Has God with equal favors thee Neglected to endow? CURRENT POEMS. BALLAD OF THE BIRD-BRIDE. (ESKIMO.) THEY never come back, though I loved them well. I watch the south in vain; The snow-bound skies are blear and gray, Wild and wide is the wan gull's way, Years agone, on the flat white strand, I won my wild sea-girl: Wrapped in my coat of the snow-white fur, I watched the wild birds settle and stir, One, the greatest of all the flock, Perched on an ice-floe bare, Calied and cried as her heart were broke, And straight they were changed, that strange bird-folk, To women young and fair. Swift I sprang from my hiding-place I held her fast, the sweet, strange thing. Her comrades skirled, but they all took wing, I bore her safe to my warm snow house; But I took her to wife, and clothed her warm Her wandering glances sank to rest Together we tracked the fox and the seal, And at her behest I swore That bird and beast my bow might slay For meat and our raiment, day by day. But never a gray gull more. A weariful watch I keep for aye 'Mid the snow and the changeless frost: Have ye forgotten the old keen life? Is there no room in your hearts for me, Or our home on the low sea-shore? Once the quarry was scarce and shy, Sharp hunger gnawed us sore, My spoken oath was clean forgot, My bow twanged thrice with a swift, straight shot, And slew me sea-gulls four. The sun hung red on the sky's dull breast, The snow was wet and red; Her voice shrilled out in a woful cry, She beat her long white arms on high, "The hour is here," she said. She beat her arms, and she cried full fain Bonny gray wings to wear!" They ran to her side, our bairnies three, "Babes of mine, of the wild wind's kin, Feather ye quick, nor stay. Oh, oho! but the wild winds blow! Up, dear hearts, and away!" And lo! the gray plumes covered them all, Shoulder and breast and brow. I felt the wind of their whirling flight: Was it sea or sky? was it day or night? It is always night-time now. Dear, will you never relent, come back? O winged white wife, and our bairnies three, Ay, ye once were mine, and till I forget, GRAHAM R. TOMSON. -Harper's Magazine, January, 1889. THE BRIDE'S TRAGEDY. "THE wind wears roun', the day wears doun, The moon is grisly gray; |