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THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS.
From the German.
Paul walked with Carrie, I with Annette. Our way lay across a clover-field, over which, at wide intervals, were scattered
The sea bath its pearls, bushy cedar trees. Beneath one of these we
The heaven hath its stars, four stopped to rest. Annette was asking
But my heart, my heart,
My heart hath its love. me a host of questions about Paris, Naples, Venice, and Rome; but I can not say I an
"Great are the sea and the heaven;
Yet greater is my heart, swered them, though I suppose I did. I saw
And fairer than pearls and stars nothing but Carrie Gray—heard nothing but
Flashes and beams my love. her voice and the ringing lines of Paul's
"Thou little youthful maiden, poem :
Come unto my great heart;
My heart and the sea and the heaven
Are melting away with love!' "As we turned from the cedar I saw Carrie
“Poor Paul! He had read that so sweetly give Paul a pretty sprig, at the same time the day before. Ah! Paul's life is a great looking up into his glowing face with a smile
poem, a mighty melody now!” of almost unearthly radiance. How fondly he clasped that twig-how religiously he
“Flower de Luce" is the best poem of the stowed it away close to his heart. Annette kind ever written. We have read it a hunsaw it too, and immediately grew quiet and dred times, and with each reading new thoughtful.
beauties have appeared. It is a poem of art “The bluff was on the opposite side of the -a child of midnight lucubrations—whose river, and we had to cross on a bridge only every feature is chiseled, painfully, elaboone plank wide. Paul crossed first, walking rately, to the mask of the ideal. Not only is backward, holding Carrie's hands. His look the rhetoric the perfection of art, but the was one of triumph—exultant beyond de- idea of the song is itself turned to Grecian scription. Annette did not wait for me, but symmetry. Here is the song with interludes : tripped across the swaying bridge as nimbly
FLOWER DE LUCE. as a fawn.
Beautiful lily, dwelling by still rivers, “ The spot of rendezvous was well chosen
Or solitary mere, -a high point covered with small trees and Or where the sluggish meadow-brook delivers scattered over with huge mossy stones. A
Its waters to the weir. better place could not have been prepared "I have been absent again for two years. for a day's chit-chat with an interesting I have been to Egypt and Palestine. I have companion. I felt little like talking, and toiled up the pyramids; I have swum in the was really glad when Annette wandered Dead Sea ; I have stood on Calvary, walked away in search of violets. I perched myself the streets of the Holy City, and slept in upon a high rock where I could see Paul and Gethsemane. All this has failed to drive Carrie far below seated near each other on from my bosom the one haunting memorythe ground, eating oranges and talking earn- the one holy desire. “Ali il ali ! ” shouted estly. I watched both faces closely—studied the prayerful Mohammedans, but I turned them diligently. Paul's was hopeful, happy, my face westward and bowed to a fair idol nay joyous. Rapture was irradiated by far in the sunset land. I have just read every feature.
But Carrie's face was a Flower de Luce' for the first time, but there mystery unfathomable—a labyrinth of sun is something very familiar in its tone. Ah, beams. They were talking of flowers and I beautiful lily by the still river! How my heard her say:
heart will go back to you from the filmy “ I like all blue and purple flowers.' future years!
“Then I too shall like them best,' said “Paul is looking thin and pale, and has he.
not mentioned Carrie Gray since my return. “I bethought me of the rudeness of eaves- Poor boy! he is singing beside his grave. dropping just then, and strolled away to a Some of his poems are exquisite, though they cosy nook in the rock, where I seated myself, are just tinged a little with melancholy. lit a cigar, and drew forth a pocket edition of “I shall go to see Carrie Gray to-day. Longfellow. The first poem on which my Carrie Gray! How my bosom heaves at the eyes fell was:
thought of meeting her once more!
"My horse is ready: I am off!
The burnished dragon-fly is thine attendant, “Down through the great gates, and out
And tilts against the field,
And down the listed sunbeam rides resplendent across the fields of timothy and blue-grass;
With steel-blue mail and shield!' now under titan walnut trees; now through
“Carrie is 80 wicked !' said Annette, when a sugar orchard, and on to the mill whose lin' is lined with 'flowers de luce;' now
the two were beyond the reach of her voice. plashing through the race, my ears full of As she spoke she burst into tears, hiding her bustle and roar and rattle; and now up the face in her hands. I knew what she meant steep beyond, my horse's feet keeping time to after a moment, for the whole truth flashed "the whir and worry
on my mind. Of spindle and of loom,
“She is killing him, then?' I asked. And the great wheel that toils amid the hurry
*** Yes.' And rushing of the flume!'
"Do you know this?' “ Carrie Gray's home is an old brown
Yes.' house of a tumble-down appearance, but the
“And you have not told him ?' situation is quite charming. Her parents
"Oh, yes, yes !-a hundred times; but all have been well to do, but are now quite in vain!' reduced on account of the ravages of war.
“My heart rose into my throat, and I could There is, however, an air of refinement lin- talk no more. gering about the broken flower-frames on the
“Paul and Carrie returned presently, the lawn and among the tangled vines on the old latter radiant and joyous as ever. Paul held porch. Annette met me at the door, holding his handkerchief to his mouth : it was satuout both her hands. She had grown to be a rated with blood. He said it was from a noble looking woman, with a face radiant tooth : I knew it was from his lungs ! with the glory of soul. I took her warm • Thou art the Iris, fair among the fairest, little hands in mine, and went in. As we Who, armed with golden rod, entered, Carrie rose from an ottoman, a smile
And winged with the celestial azure, bearest
The message of some god. breaking in sunny waves about her lips, and the old mysterious twilight splendor in her Thou art the muse who, far from crowded cities,
Hauntest the sylvan streams, eyes. Her robe of royal purple swept the
Playing on pipes of reed the artless ditties floor, and her chestnut hair rippled over her
That come to us as dreams.' shoulders. * Born to the purple, born to joy and pleasance,
“Here is Paul's grave. He is at rest. I Thou dost not toil nor spin, But makest glad and radiant with thy presence
will plant this, his favorite flower, at the head
of his lowly couch, where its rustling leaves “How fast the hours sped that day. We may sing to him through many coming sumtalked, and read, and sang; then we strolled mers. Brightly and gladly flows the little down to the summer-house at the foot of the
river ! High waves the purple pennon of the hill, where Annette made me a superb bouquet
O Flower de Luce! bloom on, and let the river of roses and tulips. Carrie played with her
Linger to kiss thy feet; dog and sang snatches of Moore's songs.
O Flower of Song! bloom on, and make forever About three in the evening, Paul came, look
The world more fair and sweet! ing perfectly pallid. Both Carrie and Annette
“I stood beside the grave a long time in greeted him with great warmth, asking about deep meditation, and presently from the his health. He replied in monosyllables, bare- flowers, and trees, and rivers, and winds, ly smiling. He was evidently laboring under there came a deep but sweet voice, saying: some terrible grief. He and Carrie soon
"Go not toward Parnassus, for you must wandered off together, leaving Annette with
cross the foul morass of sorrow to reach it. me. I watched Carrie walk beside him in He who longs for the flowers that are upon the golden sunlight among the roses and humming insects, and wondered how he is but the shadow of things unattainable—a
the mountain reaches out after death. Poetry could be unhappy.
magic light far off in a maze of darkness. He "The wind blows and uplifts thy drooping banner, And round thee throng and run
that sleepeth here was but a type of him who The rushes, the green yeomen of thy manor,
grasps after the songs of Heaven. He worThe outlaws of the sun!
shiped a shell of beauty; his ears were filled
The meadow and the lin!'
with the murmur it had caught from the great ows of Helusion. He longs for nothing but ocean of life. So with the poet: he bows to rest—eremia-nepenthe–lethe !'” the hollow sky and mimics the meaningless We have filled the space allowed us. We whisper of the winds! At length he spreads shall always love “Flower de Luce," but this out his arms to grasp the living form of June weather is too sultry for criticism. Our Nature, and lo! she will not. Then walks cigar is out, and a feeling that plays about the sickened poet down from Helicon, and, our eyes reminds us of our evening nap. Au looking forward, sees nothing but the shad- revoir.
OF THE SKEIN.
The Orchard trees are white with snow,
As they were white with bloom, Foam-white, and like a sea beneath
The window of the room ; And fitfully an April sun
Now went, now gleamed again,
The winding of the skein.
And dwelt, as still we dwell,
Our mother loved so well ;
Nor others 'sought to gain,
The winding of the skein.
The orchard like a boy,
Made half his summer joy;
He grew in time to reignAnd this was he whose name brings back
The winding of the skein.
The story ere 'tis told:
Nor coy, nor over-bold;
There was no need to feign,
The winding of the skein.
The wonder in his face,
Her beauty, and the grace
His heart could not restrain, Though hard he strove with it, until
The winding of the skein.
The idle hours with idle toil
We sped, and talked between:
A 'broidered banner screen :
She was so glad to gain,
The winding of the skein ?
About his fingers rolled :
It has the truer gold."
To turn from her in vain,
The winding of the skein.
The task was wholly done,
Straight to his cheek would run;
Her voice through every vein Went with a thrill of joy, throughout
The winding of the skein. Round after round, until the end,
And when the end was there .
Raised in the empty air:
Startled his dreaming brain,
In winding of the skein.
And many a day they strayed:
While hard for death I prayed.
Benumb my heart with pain,
The winding of the skein.
Dartmore, and seemed to have forgotten that She died! Those words reveal to you the sorrow that she had called her there, or the mother Cata
she bare: There are no words more bitter; they are themselves rina ; or at least made no allusion to having despair.-ANON.
done so. The change in the condition of the O reason! who shall say what spells renew
child had been so rapid since the messenger When least we look for it thy broken clew !-MOORE.
had been dispatched as to preclude every ray VERY soon after the departure of St. Mar, of hope ; the cold lethargic stupor which so a breathless messenger arrived at the palace often precedes death had succeeded the tossof Lord Dartmore, and gave to the porter an
ing restlessness and the wild delirium of the unfolded slip of paper, to be handed speedily fever that had consumed her. to his mistress.
The physician, the nurses, stood silently at Immediately on reading it, Lady Dartmore the foot of the bed, waiting for the awful equipped herself hastily, and set out on foot moment when the pure soul should put aside for the residence of St. Mar, giving orders as its beautiful and perishing clay. They could she left the gate that her carriage should
no longer minister aid, nor hope, nor counfollow her as promptly as possible. The sel; and a deep and solemn awe seemed to agitation of her manner did not escape the have fallen over them and silenced the exnotice of her attendants; they surmised the cause vainly until the slip of paper she had pression of their feebler sorrow, in the pres
ence of the mother's sacred and awful afflicreceived was found on the floor of her cham- tion. Her own malady it seemed—a nervous ber after her departure, and perused, as much fever-bad been communicated to her child. from affectionate anxiety as curiosity. It
I will not linger on a scene that stirs the contained only these words:
utmost anguish of every nature capable of " Come to me for God's sake! My child sympathy or emotion. Those who have looked is ill—I fear in great danger-and I am alone on a spectacle like this (and unfortunately and almost in despair. Oh! lose no time, but there are many such), will comprehend at come. Yours, HELEN ST. MAR."
once its dark and fearful character ; and to How promptly this summons was obeyed those who have not, God forbid that words by the kind and generous heart of Lady of mine should unvail its surpassing bitterDartmore, has been seen. She arrived ness and agony! It is enough to say she speedily and almost exhausted at the remote died :—the fairest flower—the loveliest being dwelling of Helen, and found a scene of woe that ever saw the light-the idol of a bruised and despair beyond her darkest conjecture. and broken heart—the solitary star of a ray
On a low couch in the center of the large less night! She died;—and still more piteous and gloomy chamber, lay the beautiful and is the task which tells-her mother lived. (it was even so) the dying child. Beside her Well had it been for thee, Helen, had the knelt the stricken mother, clasping in hers grave opened for thee its cold and quiet arms one chilling band, while she bent upon her -its friendly bosom-when thy light of life face that steadfast wild and insatiable gaze, went out! Who speaks of death as the which once seen on the human countenance darkest evil earth has in store? The loss of can never be forgotten, far less described. friends, the loss of fame, the loss of reasonShe scarcely noticed the entrance of Lady I are all incomparably, in their anguish, their
shame, their horror, beyond the mere loss of Lady Dartmore, who saw in sorrow alone life. How quiet, how calm, how sweet, sufficient cause for love and pity and respect. seems the slumber of the newly dead !-how It need not be said how deeply Captain visibly that word of God's own coinage, Sedley participated in his sister's feelings, Peace, is written on their silent faces! Who nor with what anxiety he awaited the fulfillis there that in the midst of sorrow, of tur- ment of the predictions of Dr. Bartola. moil, of trouble.-nay, even of daily and petty It was early dawn, and the grey mists cares--stretches not forth his arms at times, were floating away before the first beams of in solitude and weariness of spirit, craving the yet unrisen sun, when Mrs. Forrester to be one of these chosen ones?
arose and threw open the window of the As I have said, Helen survived—to become apartment in which she had watched since the victim of a despair that never was sur-midnight. The bland fresh air of morning passed, that rarely knew a parallel, which was reviving to her wearied frame, and the vented itself at first in days and nights of twittering of the birds that made their nests shrieking and tearless agony, and, later, in among the trees in the garden below, was a weeks, nay months, of strange and utter im- sound full of sweetness and cheerfulness to becility. Her physicians, with a sole excep- her ear: the mere aspect of awakening nation, pronounced her case one of hopeless ture had power for a moment to fill her soul idiocy. But Dr. Bartola (an eminent and with emotions of purest consolation and enlightened man) was from the beginning of awaken thankfulness. It was indeed a fitopinion that a reaction would ultimately take ting place and time for the solemn morning place, even if it heralded death.
prayer that left her lips, and I doubt not The clew had not yet been found by Lady found its steadfast, unselfish way to the Ear Dartmore whereby to trace the wanderings it was addressed to. After a space, she turnof St. Mar. She had written him letters to ed away and closed the casement, and crossEngland, Carolina, France-hoping that one ing the room with quiet steps, drew back might reach him; but as yet no notice had the curtains of Helen's bed to look upon been taken of them, nor had any line from her face-ever lovely, even in unconscioushis hand reached his wife.
ness. To her surprise, she found her sitting During her dark state of unconsciousness up with her arms extended and eyes fixed of more than chillike helplessness, Helen as if in ecstatic contemplation of some obhad found devoted and unwearying friends, ject before her. She continued this for a such as are not often vouchsafed even to the few moments, when slowly and gently she prosperous and happy. By day and by night suffered her arms to fall, and bowing her she was faithfully, tenderly attended by Lady head, while large tears stole down her Dartmore and the Countess Clare.
cheeks, she murmured the words: “She is From the moment of ; her return from gone." Rome (which occurred soon after the death It was a moment of intense interest to of Eudora), this lady had been unremitting Mrs. Forrester. She could not doubt from in her devotion to the unconscious invalid. the whole expression of her face and attiCaptain Sedley-scarcely convalescent—had tude—from her words from the tears which insisted on returning to Florence as soon as had until now been strangers to her eyes he was able to bear the motion of a car- that reason was restored to the brain of riage; for, although seeking no further dif- Helen St. Mar. Yet she feared to stir, to ference with St. Mar, he cared not to avoid speak, lest any sudden movement should him. It was on reaching the abode of Lady throw back the soul to wrestle in darkness Dartmore that they heard the news of again. Helen's bereavement; and the Countess Clare At last the sufferer ceased to weep, and hesitated no longer to go to her and nıinister bending a calm and earnest gaze on her gento ber affliction.
tle minister, she said to her in her natural She bad shown no recognition of her so voice-one whose tones were peculiarly far, nor indeed of any one; nor was it ne- sweet and touching: cessary for Mrs. Forrester to explain away “Mrs. Forrester, I have seen Eudora ! the deep interest she could not conceal from No-it was no dream”-shaking her head her own breast, that she felt in the invalid, gently, with a faint mournful smile—“no to the affectionate and unsuspicious mind of dream! She was here in spiritual presence