He who, from zone to zone,

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone,

Will lead my steps aright.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

THE SANDPIPER.

ACROSS the narrow beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I;

And fast I gather bit by bit,

The scattered driftwood, bleached and dry.
The wild waves reach their heads for it,
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
As up and down the beach we flit-
One little sandpiper and I.

Above our heads the sullen clouds
Scud black and swift across the sky;
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
Stand out the white light-houses high.
Almost as far as eye can reach

I see the close-reefed vessels fly,
As fast we flit along the beach-
One little sandpiper and I.

I watch him as he skims along
Uttering his sweet and mournful cry;
He starts not at my fitful song,

Or flash of fluttering drapery;

He has no thought of any wrong,

He scans me with a fearless eye; Staunch friends are we, well tried and strong, The little sandpiper and I.

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night,
When the loosed storm breaks furiously?
My driftwood fire will burn so bright;
To what warm shelter canst thou fly?
I do not fear for thee though wroth
The tempest rushes through the sky;
For are we not God's children both,
Thou, little sandpiper, and I.

CELIA THAxter.

THE SKYLARK.

BIRD of the wilderness,

Blythesome and cumberless,
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!
Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place

O to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay and loud

Far in the downy cloud,

Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.
Where, on thy dewy wing,

Where art thou journeying?

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth,

O'er fell and fountain sheen,

O'er moor and mountain green,

O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,
Over the cloudlet dim,

Over the rainbow's rim,
Musical cherub, soar, singing away!

Then, when the gloaming comes,

Low in the heather blooms,

Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place

O to abide in the desert with thee!

JAMES HOGG.

THE BROOKSIDE.

I WANDER'D by the brookside,
I wander'd by the mill;

I could not hear the brook flow,
The noisy wheel was still:
There was no burr of grasshopper,
No chirp of any bird ;

But the beating of my own heart

Was all the sound I heard.

I sat beneath the elm tree,

I watch'd the long, long shade,

And as it grew still longer

I did not feel afraid;

The evening air pass'd by my cheek,
The leaves above were stirr'd;

But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.

Fast, silent tears were flowing,
When something stood behind;

A hand was on my shoulder,

I knew its touch was kind;
It drew me nearer, nearer-
We did not speak one word;
But the beating of our own hearts
Was all the sound we heard.

RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES

(LORD HOUGHTON).

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.

THIS is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,
Sails the unshadow'd main,—

The venturous bark that flings

On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings
In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,

And coral reefs lie bare,

Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;

Wreck'd is the ship of pearl!

And every chamber'd cell,