k at night the catacombs of Rome,
Or dwell within some deep death-haunted wood;
To feel like Bonaparte with power endued,
Yet doomed to sleep beneath the starry dome,
And listen to the ocean chafe and foam,--
Not this, not all of these, is solitude.

But oh, to be alone within the hive
Of teeming life, where thousands live and move
And have their shallow beings,--there to strive
With doubt and faith, and feel the soul expand
Beyond the utmost reach of those we love,
And know that they can never understand.

LOVE'S TRIUMPH

_To Hart's Triumph of Chastity (destroyed by fire)_

Ah, shattered form, thy beauty, chaste as frost,
Once held in thrall the heart of lord and swain.
While Cupid sped his strongest shafts in vain
Thou didst not dream the price thy triumph cost,
Or know thy charm would be forever lost,
When Time with jealous wind or flood should stain
Thy snowy brow in grime or part in twain
Thy marble heart in fervent holocaust!

Thy spell is gone; but oh, the maid whose heart
Was riven by the little wing-ed god
That dipped his arrow in the scarlet stream
Of my own life, shall triumph over Art
And Time,--my love, whose ardent pulsing blood
Shall quicken other lives and reign supreme!

MY GUIDING STAR

Adrift alone on life's bleak ocean waste,
Through starless nights and dreary sunless days;
Wherever currents led o'er pathless maze,
I plied the oars of aimless toil, and faced
Defeat impatiently, nor ever traced
One ray of hope along the murky haze
Of life's horizon, till I caught the blaze
Of one lone star, whose light was virgin-chaste.

But now I sail through seas where fortune smiles,
And not a cloud the brilliant sky doth mar;
For, ever twinkling near that blazing light,
A little orb my every care beguiles:
My radiant wife is that lone guiding star,
My laughing blue-eyed boy its satellite!

AFTER READING SAMUEL MINTURN PECK'S RHYMES AND ROSES

The drowsy drone of honey-laden bees,
The poppied breath of gardens blooming fair,
The scent of elder blossoms, sweet and rare,
Come stealing in on balmy southern breeze;
And dying lays, whose long lost melodies
Still haunt old storied ruins everywhere,
Are dimly floating through the fragran