f ancient Rome,
A simple peasant at his toil
Discovered 'neath the upturned loam
The spot to which I now have come,--
A Roman Columbarium.

Down through its modern, open door
A flood of mellow sunshine falls
In golden waves from roof to floor,
Revealing in its moss-grown walls
The "dove-cotes", where one still discerns
The fragments of old funeral urns.

One vacant niche, whose ampler space
Betokens special love and care,
Contained no doubt a sculptured face
Above the hallowed ashes there;
While, just beneath, faint letters spell
A faithful woman's fond farewell.

How often on love's winged feet
She doubtless sought this dear recess,
To deck with floral offerings sweet
Her sepulchre of happiness,
Whose script, despite two thousand years,
Preserves the memory of her tears!

Rome's annals hint not of the name
Of him whose dust lay treasured here,
But could the fleeting breath of fame
Have made him to her heart more dear?
A word of tenderness outweighs
In woman's soul a world of praise.

What though, remote from pomp and state,
At Caesar's court he could not shine?
Less blest had surely been his fate
Upon the lustful Palatine!
And mutual love, wherever viewed,
Is life's supreme beatitude.

Alas! the urn no longer stands
Within the little alcove dim;
Gone also are the faithful hands
That hung sweet roses on its rim;
And vanished even is the bust
Which watched above the sacred dust.

Yet still its words of love survive
The shocks and tragedies of time,
And bid our drooping hearts revive,
Inculcating the faith sublime
That, while the urn in ruin lies,
Love soars immortal to the skies.

DISCOURAGEMENT

"Forward, comrades, ever forward"!
Shout the leaders in the fight;
"Scale the ramparts! Plant the standard
On the citadel of light!

"Break the chains of superstition!
Crush corruption! Free the slave!
Plant the flowers of love and mercy
On the past's ensanguined grave!

"Toward the strongholds of oppression
Lead again the hope forlorn!
See! the night is disappearing;
Lo! the coming of the morn"!

Bravely said; yet men have spoken
Just as bravely long ago,
When the hair had raven blackness
Which is now as white as snow;

And alas! how many thousands
Have responded to that call,
Whose forgotten corpses moulder
By the still beleaguered wall!

Forms have changed and words have altered,
But the things remain the same;
Still doth man enslave his brother,--
Always master, save in n