O hearts that break and give no sign Save whitening lip and fading tresses, Till Death pours out his cordial wine Slow-dropped from Misery's crushing presses,If singing breath or echoing chord Το every hidden pang were given, What endless melodies were poured, As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven! 11* THE CROOKED FOOTРАТН. Aн, here it is! the sliding rail That marks the old remembered spot, gap The that struck our schoolboy trail, The crooked path across the lot. It left the road by school and church, And ended at the farm-house door. No line or compass traced its plan; The gabled porch, with woodbine green, The broken millstone at the sill, Though many a rood might stretch between, The truant child could see them still. No rocks across the pathway lie, — No fallen trunk is o'er it thrown, And yet it winds, we know not why, And turns as if for tree or stone. Perhaps some lover trod the way With shaking knees and leaping heart, And so it often runs astray With sinuous sweep or sudden start. Or one, perchance, with clouded brain Nay, deem not thus, no earthborn will Could ever trace a faultless line; Our truest steps are human still, To walk unswerving were divine ! Truants from love, we dream of wrath ; O, rather let us trust the more ! Through all the wanderings of the path, We still can see our Father's door! THE TWO STREAMS. BEHOLD the rocky wall That down its sloping sides Pours the swift rain-drops, blending, as they fall, In rushing river-tides! Yon stream, whose sources run Is Athabasca, rolling toward the sun The slender rill had strayed, But for the slanting stone, To evening's ocean, with the tangled braid |