THE MASTER'S CALL.

ISE, said the Master, come unto the feast:-
She heard the call and rose with willing feet;

But thinking it not otherwise than meet

For such a bidding to put on her best,

She is gone from us for a few short hours
Into her bridal closet, there to wait

For the unfolding of the palace-gate,

That gives her entrance to the blissful bowers.

We have not seen her yet, though we have been

Full often to her chamber-door, and oft

Have listened underneath the postern green,

And laid fresh flowers, and whispered short and soft;

But she hath made no answer; and the day

From the clear west is fading fast away.

HENRY ALford.

.

UT deck the board;-for hither comes a band
Of pure young spirits, fresh arrayed in white,
Glistering against the newly-risen light;

Over the green and dew-impearlëd land
Blithsomely tripping forward hand in hand:
Deck ye the board: and let the guest be dight
In gospel wedding-garment rich and bright,
And every bud that summer suns expand.
For you, ye humble ones, our thickets bloom:

Ye know the texture of each opening flower,
And which the sunshine, and which love the gloom.
The shrill of poised larks for many an hour

Ye watch; and all things gentle in your hearts
Have place, and play at call their tuneful parts.

HENRY ALFord

TO MARY.

IN thy young brow, my sister, twenty years
Have shed their sunshine; and this April morn

Looks on thee fresh and gladsome, as new-born
From veiling clouds the king of day appears:
Thou scarce canst order back the thankful tears
That swell in thy blue eyes: nor dare to meet
The happy looks that never cease to greet
Thee the dear nursling of our hopes and fears.
This Easter-tide together we have read

How in the garden, when that weeping one Asked sadly for her Lord of some unknown, With look of sweet reproof He turned and said, "Mary"-Sweet sister, when thy need shall be, That word, that look, so may He turn on thee! HENRY ALFORD

ADY, I bid thee to a sunny dome
Ringing with echoes of Italian song:
Henceforth to thee these magic halls belong,
And all the pleasant place is like a home.

Hark, on the right with full piano tone

Old Dante's voice encircles all the air;

Hark yet again, like flute-tones mingling rare, Comes the keen sweetness of Petrarca's moan. Pass thou the lintel freely: without fear

Feast on the music: I do better know thee, Than to suspect this pleasure thou dost owe me Will wrong thy gentle spirit, or make less dear That element whence thou must draw thy life,An English maiden and an English wife.

ARTHUR HENRY Hallam.

JH blessing and delight of my young heart,
Maiden, who wert so lovely and so pure,
I know not in what region now thou art,
Or whom thy gentle eyes in joy assure.

Not the old hills on which we gazed together,
Not the old faces which we both did love,

Not the old books whence knowledge we did gather—
Not these, but others now thy fancies move,
I would I knew thy present hopes and fears,

All thy companions, with their pleasant talk,
And the clear aspect which thy dwelling wears;
So, though in body absent, I might walk

With thee in thought and feeling, till thy mood

Did sanctify mine own to peerless good.

ARTHUR HENRY HALLAM.

י