He, the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife,
By the roadside fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life.

They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly!
Spake with us on earth no more!

And with them the being beauteous,
Who unto my youth was given
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.

With a slow and noiseless footstep
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.

And she sits and gazes at me

With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.

Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer;
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.

Upon its midnight battle-ground
The spectral camp is seen;
And with a sorrowful, deep sound,
Flows the River of Life between.

No other voice nor sound is there
In the army of the grave;
No other challenge breaks the air
But the rushing of Life's wave.

And, when the solemn and deep church-bell
Entreats the soul to pray,

The midnight phantoms feel the spell,

The shadows sweep away.

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar

The spectral camp is fled:

Faith shineth as a morning-star;

Our ghastly fears are dead.

MAIDENHOOD.

MAIDEN with the meek, brown eyes,
In whose orbs a shadow lies

Like the dusk in evening skies!

Thou whose locks outshine the sun,
Golden tresses, wreathed in one,
As the braided streamlets run!

Standing with reluctant feet
Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood fleet!

Gazing with a timid glance
On the brooklet's swift advance,
On the river's broad expanse!

Deep and still, that gliding stream
Beautiful to thee must seem
As the river of a dream.

Then why pause with indecision,
When bright angels in thy vision
Beckon thee to fields Elysian?

Seest thou shadows sailing by,
As the dove, with startled eye,
Sees the falcon's shadow fly?

Hear'st thou voices on the shore,
That our ears perceive no more,
Deafened by the cataract's roar?

O thou child of many prayers!
Life hath quicksands, lite hath snares:
Care and age come unawares.

Like the swell of some sweet tune,
Morning rises into noon,

May glides onward into June.

Childhood is the bough where slumbered
Birds and blossoms many-numbered;
Age, that bough with snows encumbered.

Gather, then, each flower that grows
When the young heart overflows,
To embalm that tent of snows.

Bear a lily in thy hand:

Gates of brass can not withstand
One touch of that magic wand.

Bear, through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,
In thy heart the dew of youth,
On thy lips the smile of truth.

Oh! that dew, like balm, shall steal

Into wounds that can not heal,

Even as sleep our eyes doth seal;

And that smile, like sunshine, dart
Into many a sunless heart:
For a smile of God thou art.

EXCELSIOR.

THE shades of night were falling fast
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device, —
"Excelsior!"

His brow was sad; his eye beneath Flashed like a falchion from its sheath; And like a silver clarion rung

The accents of that unknown tongue, "Excelsior!"