CONTEMPLATION.

‘ They are all up — the innumerable stars —

And hold their place in heaven. My eyes have been

Searching the pearly depths through which they spring

Like beautiful creations, till I feel

As if it were a new and perfect world,

Waiting in silence for the word of God

To breathe it into motion. There they stand,

Shining in order, like a living hymn

Written in light, awaking at the breath

Of the celestial dawn, and praising Him

Who made them, with the harmony of spheres.

I would I had an angel's ear to list

That melody! I would that I might float

Up in that boundless element, and feel

Its ravishing vibrations, like a pulse

Beating in heaven! My spirit is athirst

For music — rarer music! I would bathe

My soul in a serener atmosphere

Than this! I long to mingle with the flock

Led by the “living waters,” and lie down

In the “green pastures” of the better land!

When wilt thou break, dull fetter! When shall I

Gather my wings; and, like a rushing thought,

Stretch onward, star by star, up into heaven!’

Thus mused Alethe. She was one to whom

Life had been like the witching of a dream,

Of an untroubled sweetness. She was born

Of a high race, and laid upon the knee,

With her soft eye perusing listlessly

The fretted roof, or, on Mosaic floors,

Grasped at the tessellated squares, inwrought

With metals curiously. Her childhood pass'd

Like faery — amid fountains and green haunts —

Trying her little feet upon a lawn

Of velvet evenness, and hiding flowers

In her sweet bosom, as it were a fair

And pearly altar to crush incense on.

Her youth — oh! that was queenly! She was like

A dream of poetry that may not be

Written or told — exceeding beautiful!

And so came worshippers; and rank bow'd down,

And breathed upon her heart, as with a breath

Of pride, and bound her forehead gorgeously

With dazzling scorn, and gave unto her step

A majesty as if she trod the sea,

And the proud waves, unbidden, lifted her.

And so she grew to woman — her mere look

Strong as a monarch's signet, and her hand

The ambition of a kingdom.

From all this

Turn'd her high heart away! She had a mind,

Deep and immortal, and it would not feed

On pageantry. She thirsted for a spring

Of a serener element, and drank

Philosophy, and for a little while

She was allay'd — till, presently, it turn'd

Bitter within her, and her spirit grew

Faint for undying waters.

Then she came

To the pure fount of God — and is athirst

No more — save when the “fever of the world”

Falleth upon her, she will go, sometimes,

Out in the starlight quietness, and breathe

A holy aspiration after heaven!