The mountains that infold

In their wide sweep, the coloured landscape round, Seem groups of giant kings in purple and gold, That guard the enchanted ground.

I roam the woods that crown

The upland, where the mingled splendours glow,
Where the gay company of trees look down
On the green fields below.

My steps are not alone

In these bright walks; the sweet south-west at play Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strewn Along the winding way.

And far in heaven, the while,

The sun, that sends that gale to wander here,
Pours out on the far earth his quiet smile-
The sweetest of the year.

Where now the solemn shade,
Verdure and gloom where many branches meet;
So grateful, when the noon of summer made
The valleys sick with heat?

Let in through all the trees

Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright,
Their sunny-coloured foliage in the breeze
Twinkles, like beams of light.

The rivulet, late unseen

When bickering through the shrubs its waters run,
Shines with the image of its golden screen,
And glimmerings of the sun.

But 'neath yon crimson tree

Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame,
Nor mark, within its roseate canopy,

Her blush of maiden shame.

THE THREE ENEMIES.

O Autumn! why so soon

Depart the hues that make thy forest glad,
Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon,-
And leave thee wild and sad?

Ah! 'twere a lot too blest

For ever in thy coloured shades to stray,
Amidst the kisses of the soft south-west
To rove and dream for aye.

And leave the vain, low strife

381

That makes men mad-the tug for wealth and power,
The passions and the cares that wither life
And waste its little hour.

"SWEET, thou art pale."

"More pale to see,

Christ hung upon the cruel tree
And bore his Father's wrath for me.

"Sweet, thou art sad."

66 Beneth a rod

More heavy, Christ for my sake trod
The wine-press of the wrath of God."

"Sweet, thou art weary."

"Not so Christ:

Whose mighty love of me sufficed
For Strength, Salvation, Eucharist."

"Sweet, thou art footsore."

"If I bleed

His feet have bled; yea, in my need.
His Heart once bled for mine indeed.'

THE WORLD.

"Sweet, thou art young. "9

"So He was young

Who for my sake in silence hung

Upon the cross with passion wrung."

"Look, thou art fair.”

"He was more fair

Than men, Who deigned for me to wear A visage marred beyond compare."

"And thou hast riches."

"Daily bread:

All else is his: Who, living, dead,

For me lacked where to lay his Head."

"And life is sweet."

"It was not so

To Him, whose cup did overflow

With mine unutterable woe."

THE DEVIL.

"Thou drinkest deep."

"When Christ would sup

He drained the dregs from out my cup; So how should I be lifted up?"

"Thou shalt win glory."

"In the skies:

Lord Jesus, cover up mine eyes

Lest they should look on vanities."

"Thou shalt have knowledge."

"Helpless dust!

In Thee, O Lord, I put my trust;
Answer Thou for me, Wise and Just."

WHEN MY HEART IS VEXED, I WILL COMPLAIN. 383

"And might."

"Get thee behind me. Lord, Who hast redeemed and not abhorred My soul, oh, keep it by thy Word."

"WHEN MY HEART IS VEXED, I WILL COMPLAIN."

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI.

(By permission of the Publishers.)

"O LORD, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?
Me whom Thou settest in a barren land,
Hungry and thirsty on the burning sand,
Hungry and thirsty where no waters be,
Nor shadows of date-bearing tree:

O Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me ?"

"I came from Edom by as parched a track,
As rough a track beneath My bleeding feet.
I came from Edom seeking thee, and sweet
I counted bitterness; I turned not back
But counted life as death, and trod

The wine-press all alone: and I am God."

"Yet, Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?
For Thou art strong to comfort: and could I
But comfort one I love, who, like to die,
Lifts feeble hands and eyes that fail to see
In one last prayer for comfort—nay,
I could not stand aside or turn away."

195

"Alas! thou knowest that for thee I died,
For thee I thirsted with the dying thirst;
I, Blessed, for thy sake was counted cursed,

In sight of men and angels crucified :

All this and more I bore to prove

My love. and wilt thou yet mistrust My love?"

"Lord, I am fain to think Thou lovest me,
For Thou art all in all and I am thine,
And lo! Thy love is better than new wine,
And I am sick of love in loving Thee.
But dost Thou love me? speak and save,
For jealousy is cruel as the grave.”

"Nay, if thy love is not an empty breath
My love is as thine own, deep answers deep.
Peace, peace: I give to my beloved sleep,
Not death but sleep, for love is strong as death :
Take patience; sweet thy sleep shall be,
Yea, thou shalt wake in Paradise with Me."

M. H, Gill & Son, Printers, Dublin.