That vision piercing to the distant future,
Those quick monitions of impending ruin,
If not from depths of soul which consciousness,
Limited as it is in mortal scope,
May not explore? Yet there serenely latent,
Or with a conscious being all their own,
Superior and apart from what we know
In this close keep we call our waking state,
Lie growing with our growth the lofty powers
We reck not of; which some may live a life
And never heed, nor know they have a soul;
Which many a plodding anthropologist,
Philosopher, logician, scientist,
Ignore as moonshine; but which are, no less,
Actual, proven, and, in their dignity
And grasp and space-defying attributes,
Worthy to qualify a deathless spirit
To have the range of an infinity
Through an unending period--at once
A promise and a proof of life immortal.

"One night, one mild, sweet night in early June,
We two had paced the drawing-room together
Till ten o'clock, and then I took my leave
And walked along the street, a square or more,
When suddenly I looked up at a star,
And then, a thought I could not fail to heed,
From the soul's awful region unexplored,
Rushed, crying, 'Back! Go back!' And back I went,
As hastily as if it were a thing
Of life or death. I did not stop to pull
The door-bell, but sprang up alert and still
To the piazza of the open window,
Drew back a blind inaudibly, looked in,
And through the waving muslin curtain, saw--
Well, she was seated in a young man's lap,
Her head upon his shoulder.

"Quick of ear
As the chased hare, she heard me; started up,
Ran to the curtain, eagerly drew me in,
And said, while joy beamed tender in her eyes,
'My brother Ambrose, just arrived from Europe!'
So swift she was, she did not give me time
Even for one jealous pang. I took his hand,
And saying, 'Anna's brother must be mine,'
I bade them both good-night, and went my way:
So was I fooled,--my better angel baffled!

"And yet once more the vivid warning came,
Flashed like quick truth from her own eyes. We stood
Together in a ball-room, when a lady,
To me unknown, came up, regarded me
With strange compassion in her curious glance,
And then, with something less divine than pity,
Looked down on my betrothed, and moved away.
I turned to Anna, but upon her face,
There was a look to startle like a ghost;
Defiance, deadly fear,