y crowd among.

O tender memory of the dead I hold
So precious through the fret and change of years!
Were I to live till Time itself grew old,
The sad sea would be sadder for those tears.

[Footnote 100: A native of New Hampshire; long resident on the Isles of
Shoals, and remarkable for her vivid pictures of ocean life, in both
prose and verse.]

* * * * *

=_Theophilus H. Hill.[101] 1836-._=

From "The Song of the Butterfly."

=_426._=

When the shades of evening fall,
Like the foldings of a pall,--
When the dew is on the flowers,
And the mute, unconscious hours,
Still pursue their noiseless flight
Through the dreamy realms of night,
In the shut or open rose
Ah, how sweetly I repose!

* * * * *

And Diana's starry train,
Sweetly scintillant again,
Never sleep while I repose
On the petals of the rose.
Sweeter couch hath who than I?
Quoth the brilliant Butterfly.

Life is but a summer day,
Gliding languidly away;
Winter comes, alas! too soon,--
Would it were forever June!
Yet though brief my flight may be,
Fun and frolic still for me!
When the summer leaves and flowers,
Now so beautiful and gay,
In the cold autumnal showers,
Droop and fade, and pine away,
Who would not prefer to die?
What were life to _such as I_?
Quoth the flaunting Butterfly.

[Footnote 101: Born in North Carolina; in the intervals of his law
practice has published a volume of poems.]

* * * * *

=_Thomas Hailey Aldrich.[102] 1836-._=

From his "Poems."

=_427._= THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS.

Kind was my friend who, in the Eastern land,
Remembered me with such a gracious hand,
And sent this Moorish Crescent which has been
Worn on the tawny bosom of a queen.

No more it sinks and rises in unrest
To the soft music of her heathen breast;
No barbarous chief shall bow before it more,
No turbaned slave shall envy and adore!

I place beside this relic of the Sun
A cross of Cedar brought from Lebanon,
Once 'borne, perchance, by some pale monk who trod
The desert to Jerusalem--and his God!

Here do they lie, two symbols of two creeds,
Each meaning something to our human needs,
Both stained with blood, and sacred made by faith,
By tears, and prayers, and martyrdom, and death.

That for the Moslem is, but this for me!
The w