ISABEL.

EYES not down-dropt nor over-bright, but fed
With the clear-pointed flame of chastity,
Clear without heat, undying, tended by

Pure vestal thoughts in the translucent fane
Of her still spirit; locks not wide dispread,
Madonna-wise on either side her head;
Sweet lips whereon perpetually did reign
The summer calm of golden charity,
Were fixed shadows of thy fixed mood,

Revered Isabel, the crown and head, The stately flower of female fortitude,

Of perfect wifehood and pure lowlihead

The intuitive decision of a bright
And thorough-edged intellect to part

Error from crime; a prudence to withhold;
The laws of marriage charactered in gold
Upon the blanched tablets of her heart;
A love still burning upward, giving light
To read those laws; an accent very low
In blandishment, but a most silver flow

Of subtle-paced counsel in distress, Right to the heart and brain, though undescried, Winning its way with extreme gentleness Through all the outworks of suspicious pride;

A courage to endure and to obey;

A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway,

Crowned Isabel, through all her placid life,
The queen of marriage, a most perfect wife.
The mellowed reflex of a winter moon;
A clear stream flowing with a muddy one,
Till in its onward current it absorbs

With swifter movement and in purer light
The vexed eddies of its wayward brother.
A leaning and upbearing parasite,
Clothing the stem, which else had fallen quite,
With clustered flower-bells and ambrosial orbs

Of rich fruit-bunches leaning on each other—
Shadow forth thee :-the world hath not another
(Though all her fairest forms are types of thee,
And thou of God in thy great charity,)
Of such a finished chastened purity.

MADELINE.

THOU art not steeped in golden languors,
No tranced summer calm is thine,

Ever-varying Madeline.

Through light and shadow thou dost range,

Sudden glances, sweet and strange,

Delicious spites, and darling angers,

And airy forms of flitting change.

Smiling, frowning, evermore,
Thou art perfect in love-lore.

Revealings deep and clear are thine

Of wealthy smiles: but who may know Whether smile or frown be fleeter?

Whether smile or frown be sweeter,

Who may know?

Frowns perfect-sweet along the brow
Light-glooming over eyes divine,

Like little clouds sun-fringed, are thine,
Ever-varying Madeline.

Thy smile and frown are not aloof
From one another,

Each to each is dearest brother;
Hues of the silken sheeny woof
Momently shot into each other.
All the mystery is thine;
Smiling, frowning, evermore,
Thou art perfect in love-lore,
Ever-varying Madeline.

A subtle, sudden flame,

By veering passion fanned,

About thee breaks and dances. When I would kiss thy hand, The flush of angered shame

O'erflows thy calmer glances,

And o'er black brows drops down
A sudden-curved frown :

But when I turn away,
Thou, willing me to stay,

Thy taper finge
Again thou blu
And o'er black
A sudden-curve

A CHA

WITH a half-glance

66

At night he said, "" Of this most intricat Teach me the nothin Yet could not all cre Beyond the bottom o

He spake of beauty Saw no divinity in g Life in dead stones, Then looking as 'twe He smoothed his chi And said the earth w

He spake of virtue: More purely, when t

Pallas and Juno sitting by:

And with a sweeping of the arm,
And a lack-lustre dead-blue eye,
Devolved his rounded periods.

Most delicately hour by hour
He canvassed human mysteries,
And trod on silk, as if the winds
Blew his own praises in his eyes,
And stood aloof from other minds
In impotence of fancied power.

With lips depressed as he were meek
Himself unto himself he sold:

Upon himself himself did feed:
Quiet, dispassionate, and cold,

And other than his form of creed,

With chiselled features clear and sleek.

THE POET.

THE poet in a golden clime was born,

With golden stars above;

Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.

He saw through life and death, through good and ill,

He saw through his own soul.

The marvel of the everlasting will,

An open scroll,