What then might come of silent misery,

What new resolvings then might intervene, I know not. Only, with the morning sky,

The goat stood tethered on the "Dragon" green, And those who, wondering, questioned thereupon, Found the hut empty,-for the Man was gone.

LINES TO A STUPID PICTURE.

" -the music of the moon

Sleeps in the plain eggs of the nightingale."

AYLMER'S Field.

FIVE geese, a landscape damp and wild,—

A stunted, not too pretty, child,

Beneath a battered gingham;

Such things, to say the least, require

A Muse of more-than-average Fire

To adequately sing 'em.

And yet-Why should they? Souls of mark

Have sprung from such ;-e'en Joan of Arc

Had scarce a grander duty;

Not always ('tis a maxim trite)

From righteous sources comes the right,—

From beautiful the beauty.

Who shall decide where seed is sown?

Maybe some priceless germ was blown
To this unwholesome marish;

(And what must grow will still increase,

Though cackled round by half the geese

And ganders in the parish.)

Maybe this homely face may hide

A Staël before whose mannish pride

Our frailer sex may tremble;

Perchance this audience anserine

May hiss (O fluttering Muse of mine!)

May hiss-a future Kemble!

Or say the gingham shadows o'er

An undeveloped Hannah More!A latent Mrs. Trimmer !!

Who shall affirm it?-who deny ?—

Since of the truth nor you nor I

Discern the faintest glimmer!

So then-Caps off, my Masters all; Reserve your final word,-recall

Your all-too-hasty strictures;

Caps off, I say, for Wisdom sees

Potential possibilities

In most unhopeful pictures.

IN THE BELFRY.

(WRITTEN UNDER RETHEL'S "DEATH THE FRIEND.")

TOLL! Is it night, or daylight yet?

Somewhere the birds seem singing still,
Though surely now the sun has set.

Toll! But who tolls the Bell once more?

He must have climbed the parapet.

Did I not bar the belfry door?