ery mist returneth
Sparkling dew and blessed rain;
So the loving heart, though distant,
Comes again--comes again.

The stars that shine in brightness o'er us
In the sky--in the sky,
Speak of loved ones gone before us
Born to die--born to die,
Who, in days of earthly sadness,
O'er us watch with tender love,
As the starlight falls around us
From above--from above.

The rose that gives, before it leaves us,
Fragrance rare--fragrance rare,
Links of love in absence weaves us
Sweet to wear--sweet to wear;
So true hearts in love united
Bound by pure affection's chain,
Though in life or death divided,
Meet again--meet again.

THE OAK TO THE IVY.

'Twas in my Spring of palmy gladness
First I met thee, Ivy wife;
Then my brow, untouched by sadness,
Bloomed with regal-foliaged life;
Proud my arms hung forth in blessing
O'er thy trustful spirit dear,
And my heart, 'neath thy caressing,
Wore a Spring-dress all the year!
Time wings on: my strength is fleeing,
And my leafy beauties too;
Still thou clings't around my being,
Changeless--ever true.

Churlish Autumn hath uncrowned me,
Still I feel thy fond embrace;
Winter sad throws gloom around me:
Sweet! thou smil'st up in my face;
Spring arrives with flowery treasures,
Summer skips by, sun-caressed;
Yet thou, envying not their pleasures,
Bloom'st upon my rugged breast.
Time wings on: my strength is fleeing,
And my leafy beauties too;
Still thou cling'st around my being,
Changeless--ever true.

Though my limbs grow old and weary,
Trembling in the wintry air;
And my life be dark and dreary--
Still I feel that thou art near;
Stripped of all my blossoms golden,
'Reft of stalwart forest pride--
Sere and sallow, leafless, olden;
Yet remain'st thou by my side.
Time wings on: my strength is fleeing,
And my leafy beauties too;
Life-long cling'st thou round my being,
Changeless--ever true.

EPIGRAM

ON A WELSHWOMAN'S HAT.

"O changeful woman! Constant man!"
Has been the theme for buried ages.
But here's the truth: say "No" who can--
Ye bards, philosophers, and sages:
Men buy their Hats all kinds of shapes;
Our own Welshwomen change their's never;
'Tis with their Hats as with their loves--
Where fancy rests the heart approves,
And, loving once, they