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Thou art not here! The midnight stars are paling

And drooping one by one from out the sky! The night wind comes to me with wilder wailing, As echo of


heart thou art not by! Yet like the stars my heart and hopes are creeping To that dear home where thou, my love, art sleeping.

Thou’rt all my own! for, like an angel's blessing,

Slumber her woof of dreams bath o'er thee thrown! Dost thou not feel my lips to thine now pressing ?

Art not my arms entwined amid thine own? Ah, blessed sleep! I too might share it, only Thou art not here, and I am more than lonely.

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It may be, dear, that I am only dreaming ;

But life hath grown more pleasant than of yore; And from thy lips love hath 'a holier seeming,

And life more hopes and aims than heretofore : It may be, there will come a dark to-morrow, And my

heart waken to a world of sorrow.

My spirit moans for thee! I cannot hush it!

Its pleadings haunt the stillness of this hour! My heart is in thy clasp! Ah, do not crush it

As a wanton plaything, or an idle flower ! Morn may restore the flower, its bloom departed But there's no morning for the broken hearted !


I do not know thee. save by thoughts that linger,

Dream-like and beautiful upon my heart —
When my rapt soul, forgetful of the singer,

Loses itself in wonder at thy art !
I do not know thee, lady ; yet full well
My spirit bows it to thy mystic spell.

I do not know thee! yet when stars are beaming

In softening lustre at the evening hour, I seek the spot where thy bright eyes are gleaming,

And yield me captive to their witching power! To see thee — hear thee — silently to trace Flashings of genius on thy lovely face !

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I do not know thee ! yet my weary spirit

In hours of absence, kneeling at thy shrine, Breathes out a prayer that it may yet inherit

One gleam of light like that which falls from thine. Yet with such gift, my heart, in its excess, Would die beneath its wealth of blissfulness !

I do not know thee! yet when flowers are springing,

When summer song-birds tales of joyance tell, I'll think I hear thy voice in concert singing ;

My heart will grow more human 'neath the spell. May thy soul's sunshine, undimmed by tears, Brighten the rugged path of onward years!


FAREWELL! farewell for aye! Not when my heart is aching 'neath the weight

Of utter loneliness — not when the knell Of dying hope comes with its bitter freight

Of wordless agony and woe, to tell How giant passions, kindled into life, Have drooped and perished 'neath the world's cold strife;

Not in such scenes of tumult and unrest, Shall thoughts of the commingle in my breast.

But when Forgetfulness her watch shall keep,

With folded wing, by Passion's turbid shore ; When o'er my heart sweet memories come like sleep,

And the soul dreams its strife is haply o’er;
Then shall the past gleam out a ray of light !

A fairy isle on life's tumultuous sea!
Like stars that lit the wasting soul's dark night
Shall be the memories that still cling to thee.

Farewell! farewell for aye!

Daniel C. Colcsworthy.


Truth will prevail, though men abhor

The glory of its light,
And wage exterminating war

And put all foes to flight.

Though trodden under foot of men,

Truth from the dust will spring, And from the press-the lip—the pen

In tones of thunder ring.

Beware-beware, ye who resist

The light that beams around, Lest, ere you look through error's mist,

Truth strikes you to the ground.

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