s and the laughter loud,
Of Pleasure in hand with Youth,
Is the silent yet eloquent reign of Peace
And the utterance of words which shall not cease
While the earth has a place for Truth.

When peal on peal the organ's voice
Calls the assembled to rejoice
For blessings unsurpassed,
Or when its milder tones tell Grief,
Then e'en Death's triumph is but brief,
Old Trinity's charm but half is grasped.

Far sweeter it is in the twilights glim,
When the symbolled altar is growing dim,
And the wayward shadows dart,
To watch the golden light stream in
Each lofty window, as though all sin
At its entrance must depart.

Saints' and martyrs' pictured graces,
Illumined by these heavenly traces,
Shine in blue and saffron and red;
But in the sun's last traces, above their faces,
Beam the eyes which no might from the soul effaces,
And the Christ's mock-crowned head.

_Literary Monthly_, 1894.

TWO TRIOLETS OF AUTUMN

KARL E. WESTON '96

'Neath fading leaves and dreary skies,
A late-born rose burst into bloom
And gazed about with sad surprise,
'Neath fading leaves and dreary skies;
Let fall from Summer's bier, it lies
In Autumn's pathway 'mid the gloom
Of fading leaves and dreary skies,
A late-born rose, burst into bloom.

Beside the ever restless sea
Fair Autumn stands. With beckoning hand
She hails the passing days, which flee
Across the ever restless sea,--
Their sealed ears hearing not the plea
Which sea-winds waft from that fair land
Beside the ever restless sea,
Where Autumn stands with beckoning hand.

_Literary Monthly_, 1894.

NANTUCKET

ARTHUR KETCHUM '98

Adrift in taintless seas she dreaming lies,
The island city, time-worn now, and gray,
Her dark wharves ruinous, where once there lay
Tall ships, at rest from far-sea industries.
The busy hand of trade no longer plies
Within her streets. In quiet court and way
The grass has crept--and sun and shadows play
Beneath her elms, in changing traceries;
The years have claimed her theirs, and the still peace
Of wind and sun and mist, blown thick and white,
Has folded her. The voices of the seas
Through many a soft, bright day and brooding night
Have wrought her silence, wide as they, and deep,
And dreaming of the past, she waits--asleep.

_Literary Monthly_, 1897.

THE GYPSY STRAIN

ARTHUR KETCHUM '98