,
Like gleamings out of Paradise,
Shone on my heart, and made it bright
With fulness of celestial light;
This day it seems--this day--and yet,
Ah! years ago--long years ago.

This day it was--Ah! years ago,
Long years ago, when first I knew
How all her beauty fill'd my soul,
With mystic glory fill'd my soul;
And every word and smile she gave,
Like motions of a sunlit wave,
Rock'd me with divine emotion,
Joyous, o'er Life's smiling ocean;
This day it seems--this day--and yet,
Ah! years ago--long years ago.

This day it was--Ah! years ago,
Long years ago, when first I heard,
Amid the silence of my soul,
The fearful silence of my soul,
That warning voice of doom declare--
O God! unmoved by my despair--
How her soft eyes would lose their light,
Their holy, pure, and stainless light,
And all the beauty of her being
Fade sadly, swiftly from my seeing;
This day it seems--Ah me! this day,
Though years ago--sad years ago.

This day it was--Ah! years ago,
Long years ago, when dumb I stood
Beside that little grass-green mound--
Would I had lain beneath the mound!--
And gazed out through my briny tears,
Upon the future lonely years,
Upon the cold, bleak, cheerless years,
Till Earth should ope her grassy breast,
And take me to my welcome rest,
Where she in Death's cold arms lay prest;
This day it seems--Ah me! this day,
Though years ago--sad years ago.

This day it was--Ah! years ago,
Long years ago; and yet I still
Gaze through moist eyes upon the Past,
The cherish'd, unforgotten Past;
Gaze onward through the coming days,
And wonder, with a sweet amaze,
What sunrise with its rosy light
Will bring her to my longing sight;
What sunset with its golden glow
Will o'er the long-sought slumber flow,
Amid whose visions she shall gleam,
As once she did through youth's sweet dream,
Ah! years ago--long years ago.

VULCAN.

From the darksome earth-mine lifted,
From the clay and from the rock
Loosen'd out with many a shock;
Slowly from the clay-dross sifted,
Molten in the fire bright-burning,
Ever purer, whiter turning--
Ho! the anvil, cool and steady,
For the soften'd rod make ready!

Blow, thou wind, upon the flame,
Raise it ever higher, hotter,
Till, like clay before the potter,
Soft become the iron frame,
Bending at the worker's will,
All his purpose to fulfil--
Ho! the fire-purged rod is ready
For the anvil, cool and steady!

At eac