he soft rain pattered on the leaves,
The April grass was wet,
Ah! folly to remember;--
'T is wiser to forget.

II.

The nightingales made vocal
June's palace paved with gold;
I watched the rose you gave me
Its warm red heart unfold;
But breath of rose and bird's song
Were fraught with wild regret.
'T is madness to remember;
'T were wisdom to forget.

III.

I stood among the gold corn,
Alas! no more, I knew,
To gather gleaner's measure
Of the love that fell from you.
For me, no gracious harvest--
Would God we ne'er had met!
'T is hard, Love, to remember, but
'T is harder to forget.

IV.

The streamlet now is frozen,
The nightingales are fled,
The cornfields are deserted,
And every rose is dead.
I sit beside my lonely fire,
And pray for wisdom yet--
For calmness to remember
Or courage to forget.

[Decoration]

_OH, LET ME DREAM._

FROM "A NINE DAYS' WONDER."

Oh! let me dream of happy days gone by,
Forgetting sorrows that have come between,
As sunlight gilds some distant summit high,
And leaves the valleys dark that intervene.
The phantoms of remorse that haunt
The soul, are laid beneath that spell;
As, in the music of a chaunt
Is lost the tolling of a bell.
Oh! let me dream of happy days gone by, etc.

In youth, we plucked full many a flower that died,
Dropped on the pathway, as we danced along;
And now, we cherish each poor leaflet dried
In pages which to that dear past belong.
With sad crushed hearts they yet retain
Some semblance of their glories fled;
Like us, whose lineaments remain,
When all the fires of life are dead.
Oh! let me dream, etc.

[Illustration: Full-page Plate]

_LOVE, THE PILGRIM._

SUGGESTED BY A SKETCH BY E. BURNE-JONES.

Every day a Pilgrim, blindfold,
When the night and morning meet,
Entereth the slumbering city,
Stealeth down the silent street;
Lingereth round some battered doorway,
Leaves unblest some portal grand,
And the walls, where sleep the children,
Toucheth, with his warm young hand.
Love is passing! Love is passing!--
Passing while ye lie asleep:
In your blessed dreams, O children,
Give him all your hearts to keep!

Blindfold is this Pilgrim, Maiden.
Though to-day he touched thy door,
He may pass it by to-m