See! she wanders where the roses,
Jealous, hide her from my view;
Now an opening fair discloses

The soft hue

Of her flitting fleecy garments, skyey blue.

Ah, she pauses! but 't is only

By a rose-tree climbing high, There to pluck a blossom lonely. Is he by?

Is the love-compelling goddess' son a-nigh?
Who can tell? for on she strayeth
Toward an arbor cool and green,

There a splashing fountain playeth
Soft, serene,

And beyond in golden wheat-fields reapers glean.

Here, amid the vines entwining,

Sits she as the moments pass,

While I gaze with sad repining

At the mass

Of the shining clouds, sun-smit like burnished brass.

Still I wait, my soul a-quiver,

Till she comes-ah, fate be kind!—

To my heart a joyous giver,

Where enshrined

Love will hide beyond the power of ill to find;

Or as calm and cold and stately
As a statue, marble-born,

Passing with white face sedately,

Not in scorn,

Yet to show me how my hopes are all forlorn.

Now the hanging vines are parted

And I see her draw a-near.

Will she leave me broken hearted?
Vanish, Fear!

In thine eyes I read my answer, thou most

dear!

"Teresa in the Garden."

CLINTON SCOLLARD.

UNA.

A

GENTLE knight was pricking on the plain,

Yclad in mighty arms and silver shield, Wherein old dints of deep wounds did remain,

The cruel marks of many a bloody field; Yet arms till that time did he never wield; His angry steed did chide his foaming bit, As much disdaining to the curb to yield : Full jolly knight he seemed, and fair did sit, As one for knightly jousts and fierce encounters

A lovely lady rode him fair beside,
Upon a lowly ass more white than snow;
Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide
Under a veil that wimpled was full low,
And over all a black stole she did throw,
As one that inly mourned: so was she sad,
And heavy sat upon her palfrey slow;

Seemed in heart some hidden care she had, And by her in a line a milk-white lamb she led.

So pure and innocent, as that same lamb,
She was in life and every virtuous lore,
And by descent from royal lineage came
Of ancient kings and queens, that had of yore
Their scepters stretcht from east to western
shore,

And all the world in their subjection held; Till that infernal fiend with foul uproar Forwasted all their land, and then expelled, Whom to avenge, she had this knight from far compelled.

From "The Faerie Queen."

EDMUND SPENSER.

SHE

Urania

URANIA.

HE smiles and smiles, and will not sigh,
While we for hopeless passion die;

Yet she could love, those eyes declare,

Were but men nobler than they are.

Eagerly once her gracious ken
Was turn'd upon the sons of men ;
But light the serious visage grew-

389

She looked, and smiled, and saw them through.

Our petty souls, our strutting wits,

Our labored, puny passion-fits-
Ah, may she scorn them still, till we
Scorn them as bitterly as she!

Yet show her once, ye heavenly Powers,
One of some worthier race than ours!
One for whose sake she once might prove
How deeply she who scorns can love.

His eyes be like the starry lights,
His voice like sounds of summer nights,
In all his lovely mien let pierce

The magic of the universe!

And she to him will reach her hand,

And gazing in his eyes will stand,

And know her friend, and weep for glee,
And cry: Long, long I've looked for thee.

Then will she weep; with smiles, till then,
Coldly she mocks the sons of men,
Till then, her lovely eyes maintain
Their pure, unwavering, deep disdain.

MATTHEW ARNOLD.

URSULA.

LADY, whose peerless loveliness
Consenting day and night confess,

In the gentle wedded hour,

When twilight breathes its magic power,
And stealthy from their noontide sleep,
Beauty's hidden spirits creep,

No lofty rhyme of beaten gold

The blossom of thy name shall hold :

But the pine leaf answering

The robin's note shall sweetly sing
Thee, as dreaming sunbeam fair,
And holy as pale evening's prayer.

WILLIAM T. WASHBURN.