e haste to be gone!"

"Soon," says the Swallow, and dips to the wind-ruffled stream,
"Grain is all garnered--the Summer is over and done;
Bleak to the eastward the icy battalions gleam,
Summer is over--and I must make haste to be gone!"

"Soon--ah, too soon!" says the Soul, with a pitiful gaze,
"Soon!--for I rose like a star, and for aye would have shone!
See the pale shuddering dawn, that must wither my rays,
Leaps from the mountains--and I must make haste to be gone!"

AT EVENTIDE

At morn I saw the level plain
So rich and small beneath my feet,
A sapphire sea without a stain,
And fields of golden-waving wheat;
Lingering I said, "At noon I'll be
At peace by that sweet-scented tide.
How far, how fair my course shall be,
Before I come to the Eventide!"

Where is it fled, that radiant plain?
I stumble now in miry ways;
Dark clouds drift landward, big with rain,
And lonely moors their summits raise.
On, on with hurrying feet I range,
And left and right in the dumb hillside
Grey gorges open, drear and strange,
And so I come to the Eventide!

IN A COLLEGE GARDEN

Birds, that cry so loud in the old, green bowery garden,
Your song is of _Love! Love! Love!_
Will ye weary not nor cease?
For the loveless soul grows sick, the heart that the grey days harden;
I know too well that ye love! I would ye should hold your peace.

I too have seen Love rise, like a star; I have marked his setting;
I dreamed in my folly and pride that Life without Love were peace.
But if Love should await me yet, in the land of sleep and forgetting--
Ah, bird, could you sing me this, I would not your song should cease!

ANNA BUNSTON (Mrs de BARY)

A MORTGAGED INHERITANCE

I knew a land whose streams did wind
More winningly than these,
Where finer shadows played behind
The clean-stemmed beechen trees.
The maidens there were deeper eyed,
The lads more swift and fair,
And angels walked at each one's side--
Would God that I were there!

Here daffodils are dressed in gold,
But there they wore the sun,
And here the blooms are bought and sold,
But there God gave each one.
There all roads led to fairyland
That here do lead to care,
And stars were lamps on Heaven's strand--
Would God, that I were there!

Here worship crawls upon her course
That there with larks would cope,
And here her voice with doubt is hoarse
That there was sweet with hope.
O land of Peace! my spirit dies
For thy