ory shimmer down.

Farewell, O Deep, nor be thy solemn bell
Jarred as I go by grief's tumultuous blast.
Farewell, ye winds, for me ye ne'er again
Will fret the bosom of the restless main.
To thee, O Barge of Time, a long farewell,
Sweet voices call me. I am home at last.

Give ear, O Earth, the honeyed air again
Swells with the rapture of the heavenly shore;
And I am singing as I upward pass
Upon the "sea of mingled fire and glass,"
To Him who Loved and gave Himself for Men,
Be Glory, Honor, Power, Forevermore.

THE SEVEN SLEEPERS.

Inscribed to

Robert Collyer.

THE SEVEN SLEEPERS.

We seem within a pleasant vale to dwell,
Whose boundary knows the early summer's spell,
And where, in leafy tabernacle, June
Hears not the mandate of the waning moon.
The river bank and hill-side of the vale,
And orchard fruitage streaked with morning pale,
Grow rosy with the rosy summer hours.
Green is the dewy turf and gay with flowers.
The morning sky is azure; we behold
The white clouds sleeping on the eastern hill,
At eve--a fleecy flock--they follow still
The shepherd sun upon his path of gold.
Sweet is the air, and peace is everywhere:
Save that in distant skies beyond our time
We mark the vivid shafts of lightning fly,
Shot from the twanging bow of thunder where
The sky is bright with pale auroral light,
Framed in by darkness; there we view
The stern death-struggling of armed hosts--
The smoke of burning cities--martyr fires--
Towers toppling to ruin, palaces,
Vast columned temples, and triumphal arch,
Fair hanging gardens, walls magnificent,
Resolved to dust by time--as summer's sun
Resolves again a fleecy cloud to mist.
Yet sometimes even here the spectral light
Broadens and brightens into sunny day,
And the soft winds (the sweeter for the war
Of elements,) blow thence to us Legends,--
Traditions fair of noble hearts as true,
Of honor pure, of love as sacred--deep--
Of valor great--of homes as fair and dear,
As fresher, better modern days have known.
I love the Legend of the Sleepers Seven,
Which comes from days so near the Manger--Cross,
It seems to me a tale of Holy Writ.

When Decius sate upon the Roman Throne,
And made his empire red with Christian blood,
Seven noble youths who dwelt at Ephesus
(Noble in birth and every Christian grace)
Refused to heed the Imperial will and bow
Themselves in worship to the pagan gods,
Preferring the reproach of Christ, to all
The wealth and ho