ss heart gleams she.

Falling like the dreams of summer,
Making holy all the place,
Visions of that sweet pale face,
Sweeter than all dreams of summer,
Dearer than all dreams of summer,
Still in bower and glade I trace!

Still her eyes come deeply glowing
Through the leafy lattices;
And the rustle of the trees,
'Neath the west wind softly blowing,
Only emulates the flowing
Of her love-toned melodies.

Oh! those waving Woods of Wytham--
Ceased she thus to hover near
Radiant from her happy sphere,
Like sunshine to glorify them,
Never would I wander nigh them--
Madly weeping should I fly them,
Till their memory e'en grew sere.

But ah! no, in endless slimmer,
Roams my heart through Wytham Woods,
Meeting in their solitudes
Evermore that angel comer,
Sweeter than the light of summer
Making golden Wytham Woods,
Now so far, so far from me
In the world of Memory.

THE STAR IN THE EAST.

O'er the wide world I wander evermore,
Through wind and weather heedless and alone,
Alike through summer, and through winter hoar,
On cloud-capt mountain, by the sea-wash'd shore,
Seeking the star that riseth in the East.

O'er the wide world--the world that knows not why,
And stares with stupid scorn to see me go;
Whilst I with solemn secret face pass by,
To laugh in desert spots where none are nigh,
Laugh loud and shrill unto the winds, Ho! Ho!
For that which none but I and _it_ do know.

To think how when I find this lucky star,
And stand beneath it, like the Wise of old,
I shall mount upward on a golden car,
Girt round with glory unto worlds afar,
While Earth amazed the wonder shall behold,
That bears me unto happiness untold!

Hush! I'll not whisper it, lest some should hear,
And hurry on before me to the spot,
Leaving me bound for ever to this sphere,
Parted for ever from my child--I here,
She in the realm that I could enter not.

Hush! I must hurry on--for many nights
Have I sought for the star about the sky,
And found it not amid the myriad lights,
Greater and lesser with their satellites,
Flashing confusedly upon mine eye.

I must unravel every golden hair
Upon the brow of Night for what I seek,
Lift every straggler from its moony lair,
Lest too _the_ star should haply linger there,
Unnoted by mine eyes so faint and weak.

For as the Wise Men did in old time trace
The Holy Child by this same guiding star,
So I know well that by the Virgi