Have played at hide-and-seek amid the bloom--
The varied tints of Spring's fresh bow'r.
Oh, sure each bud and blossom knows the spell
Their subtle fragrance weaves about my brow;
Oh, sure a mystic tale their echoes tell--
Love's soft, low-whispered vow.

The deep'ning sky o'ercast,
The shadows slowly length' ning 'neath the trees,
The tender leaves, swift in the vernal blast,
To catch the music of the breeze;
The young lush grass a-peep above the earth,
The trailing vines that to the lattice cling,
Ah, these to fancies warm and true give birth,
And o'er my senses fling.

On landscape charms I glance;
The city's distant hum is lull'd to rest,
Athwart the sunset dark'ning clouds advance.
And shut from sight the rosy west;
A dreamy orison enshrines my heart.
Deep shelter'd in the sacred haunts of home,
Where elfin sprites among the eeries dart,
Irradiate in the gloam.

Shine out, sweet love, unveil
Thy ecstasy erst wrought in accents wild;
Within my soul there breathes an anguish'd wail,
Unsoothed by resignation mild.
I would not, if I might, give back the joy
That sweeps my pulses with enraptured thrill;
In transports pure the moments cannot cloy--
My craving lingers still.

Nor time may rend the tie;
The fealty that holds the captive will
In potent thrall, if sever'd soon,
Poor human faith a-blight and chill must die.
O birdlings, blossoms, leaflets, flow'rs,
Give forth chaste spirits to enchant the air;
Let silver'd mem'ries glad the lonely hours,
And crown my picture fair.

* * * * *

The night comes on apace;
The cricket's chirp, the woodland murmur's swell,
Bid nature's changeling melodies efface
The glamour of yon phantom spell.
The flashing morn adown the glist'ning aisles,
A dew-embowered hill and grove and lea,
With ruthless light will scatter fairy wiles,
Nor leave my love to me.

--E.D.P.

THE MISER AND THE ANGEL

'Twas cold and bleak that winter's night,
When hover'd o'er the dying light,
The miser hugg'd his shrunken form,
And grudged the fire that made him warm.

The old worn latch arose and felt,
He started up with threat'ning yell--
'Begone!"--as in the open door
A woman stood, faint and foot-sore.

"Just this," she begged, "this rotten board--
'Twill not be missed from out your hoard."