hrough the golden bars
Clasping close their nuptial snows.

Not the palace lights of Hesper
In the Queendom of the Moon,
Win me from that lovely vesper--
The last one of our last June.

Oh the golden-tressed minutes!
Oh the silver-footed hours!
Oh the thoughts that sang like linnets,
In a woodland full of flowers!

When my wild heart beat so lightly
It forgot its mortal shroud;
And an Angel trembled brightly
In the fold of every cloud.

Wo! That storms of sorrow-strife
Hold the pitying light apart,
And the golden waves of life
Beat against a breaking heart.

Saddest fate that e'er has been
Woven in the loom of years,
Our sworn faith has come between,
Heavy with the wine of tears.

Broken vow and slighted trust--
Hope's white garments soiled and torn--
Passion trampled in the dust
By the iron heel of scorn.

Thou art dead, to me, as those
Folded safe from mortal strife;
Dead! as tho' the grave-mould froze
The red rivers of thy life!

Oh! My Sweet! My Light! My Love!
With my grief co-heir sublime!
Storms and sorrows ever prove
True inheritors of Time.

Hush! An Angel holds my heart
From its breaking--tho' I stand,
From the happy world apart,
On a broad and barren sand.

I will love thee tho' I die!
Love thee, with my ancient faith!
For immortal voices cry:
Love is mightier than Death!

CHICK-A-DEE'S SONG.

Sweet, sweet, sweet!
High up in the budding vine
I've woven and hidden a dainty retreat
For this little brown darling of mine!
Along the garden borders,
Out of the rich dark mold,
The daffodils and jonquils
Are pushing their heads of gold;
And high in her bower-chamber
The little brown mother sits,
While to and fro, as the west winds blow,
Her pretty shadow flits.

Weet, weet, weet!
Safe in the branching vine,
Pillowed on woven grasses sweet,
Our pearly treasures shine;
And all day long in the sunlight,
By vernal breezes fanned,
The daffodil and the jonquil
Their jeweled discs expand;
And two and fro, as the west winds blow,
In the airy house a-swing,
The feeble life in the pearly eggs
She warms with brooding wing!

Sweet, sweet, sweet!
Under a flowery spray
Downy heads and little pink feet
Are cunningly tucked away!
Along the shining furrows,
The rows of sprouting corn
Flash in the sun, and the orchards
Are blushing red as morn;
And the time o' the year for toil is here,
And idle song and