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Sleep! The ghostly Winds are blowing;
No moon's abroad; no star is glowing :
The river is deep, and the tide is flowing
To the Land where you and I are going!
We are gang afar,

Beyond

moon steed,

To the Land where the sunless Angels are!

x

the world's untrue.

The world is cruel; the world

Ourpus ure

Nowrk, no

many;

; our friends are few:
are few.

no bread, however we sue!

What is there left for us to do,

But fly, -ty

From the cruel sky

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And hide in the deepest deefs, and die!

BW. Procter

E NEW YORK 2.C LIBRARY

ATOR, LENOX

LDEN FOUNDATIONS

AT THE CHURCH GATE.

No work, no bread, however we sue!
What is there left for me to do,
But fly, fly

From the cruel sky,

And hide in the deepest deeps-and die!

BRYAN WALLER PROCTER. (Barry Cornwall.)

AT THE CHURCH GATE.

ALTHOUGH I enter not,
Yet round about the spot

Ofttimes I hover;

And near the sacred gate,
With longing eyes I wait,
Expectant of her.

The minster bell tolls out

Above the city's rout,

And noise and humming.

They've hushed the minster bell;

The organ 'gins to swell:

She's coming, she's coming!

My lady comes at last,

Timid, and stepping fast,

And hastening hither,

With modest eyes downcast;

She comes- - she's here, she's past!

May Heaven go with her!

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.

Kneel undisturbed, fair saint!
Pour out your praise or plaint
Meekly and duly;

I will not enter there,

To sully your pure prayer
With thoughts unruly.

But suffer me to pace

Round the forbidden place,

Lingering a minute,

Like outcast spirits, who wait,
And see, through Heaven's gate,
Angels within it.

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.

SHE was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight,

A lovely apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament:

Her eyes as stars of twilight fair,
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May time and the cheerful dawn;

A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

THE MOTHER NIGHTINGALE.

I saw her, upon nearer view,
A spirit, yet a woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;

A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food:
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill:
A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a spirit still, and bright

With something of an angel light.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

THE MOTHER NIGHTINGALE.

I HAVE seen a nightingale
On a sprig of thyme bewail,
Seeing the dear nest, which was
Hers alone, borne off, alas!

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