And alike do we, on life's stormy sea,

As we roam from shore to shore,
Thus tempest-tossed, seek the loved, the lost,
And find them on earth no more.

Yet the hope how sweet, again to meet,

As we look to a distant strand,

Where heart meets heart, and no more they part

Who meet in that better land.

G. F. RICHARDSON.

Carmen Bellicosum.

In their ragged regimentals

Stood the old Continentals,

Yielding not,

When the grenadiers were lunging,
And like hail fell the plunging

Cannon-shot;

When the files

Of the isles,

[rampant

From une smoky night encampment, bore the banner of the

Unicorn,

[drummer,

And grummer, grummer, grummer rolled the roll of the

Through the morn!

Then with eyes to the front all,
And with guns horizontal,

Stood our sires;

And the balls whistled deadly,

And in streams flashing redly

Blazed the fires;

As the roar

On the shore,

Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green-sodded acres Of the plain;

And louder, louder, louder cracked the black gunpowder,

Cracking amain!

Now like smiths at their forges
Worked the red St. George's
Cannoneers;

And the "villainous saltpetre"
Rung a fierce, discordant metre
Round their ears;

As the swift

Storm-drift,

With hot sweeping anger, came the horse-guard's clangor On our flanks.

Ther: higher, higher, higher burned the old-fashioned fire Through the ranks!

Then the old-fashioned colonel
Galloped through the white infernal
Powder-cloud;

And his broadsword was swinging,
And his brazen throat was ringing

Trumpet loud.

Then the blue
Bullets flew,

And the trooper-jackets redden at the touch of the leaden

Rifle-breath;

And rounder, rounder, rounder roared the iron six-pounder

Hurling death!

GUY HUMPHREY MCMASTER.

Boris.

I SAT with Doris, the shepherd maiden;
Her crook was laden with wreathed flowers.
I sat and wooed her through sunlight wheeling,
And shadows stealing for hours and hours.

And she my Doris, whose lap incloses

Wild summer roses of faint perfume,

The while I sued her, kept hushed and hearkened
Till shades had darkened from gloss to gloom.

She touched my shoulder with fearful finger;
She said, "We linger, we must not stay;
My flock's in danger, my sheep will wander;
Behold them yonder, how far they stray!"

I answered bolder, "Nay, let me hear you,
And still be near you, and still adore!
No wolf nor stranger will touch one yearling—
Ah! stay my darling a moment more!"

She whispered sighing, "There will be sorrow
Beyond to-morrow, if I lose to-day;
My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded-
I shall be scolded and sent away!"

Said I replying, "If they do miss you,

They ought to kiss you when you get home; And well rewarded by friend and neighbor Should be the labor from which you come."

"They might remember," she answered meekly, "That lambs are weakly and sheep are wild; But if they love me it 's none so fervent— I am a servant and not a child."

Then each hot ember glowed quick within me, And love did win me to swift reply:

"Ah! do but prove me, and none shall bind you, Nor fray nor find you until I die!"

She blushed and started, and stood awaiting,
As if debating in dreams divine;

But I did brave them --I told her plainly,
She doubted vainly, she must be mine.

So we twin-hearted, from all the valley.
Did rouse and rally her nibbling ewes;
And homeward drove them, we two together,
Through blooming heather and gleaming dews

That simple duty such grace did lend her,
My Doris tender, my Doris true,
That I her warder did always bless her,

And often press her to take her due.

And now in beauty she fills my dwelling

With love excelling, and undefiled;

And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent,
No more a servant, nor yet a child.

ARTHUR MUNBY.

The Exile to his Wife.

COME to me, darling, I'm lonely without thee;
Day-time and night-time I 'm dreaming about thee;
Night-time and day-time in dreams I behold thee,
Unwelcome the waking that ceases to fold thee.
Come to me, darling, my sorrows to lighten;
Come in thy beauty, to bless and to brighten;
Come in thy womanhood, meekly and lowly;
Come in thy loveliness, queenly and holy.

Swallows shall flit round the desolate ruin,
Telling of Spring and its joyous renewing;
As thoughts of thy love and its manifest treasure
Are circling my heart with a promise of pleasure.
O Spring of my heart! O May of my bosom!
Shine out on my soul till it bourgeon and blossom,
The waste of my life has a rose-root within it,
And thy fondness alone to the sunshine can win it.

Figure which moves like a song through the even,
Features lit up with a reflex of heaven,
Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our mother,
Where sunshine and shadow are chasing each other,
Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and simple;
And opening their eyes from the heart of a dimple;
O, thanks to the Saviour that even the seeming
Is left to the exile, to brighten his dreaming.

You have been glad when you knew I was gladdened;
Dear, are you sad now to hear I am saddened?
Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time, love,
As octave to octave, and rhyme unto rhyme, love;
I cannot smile but your cheeks will be glowing;
You cannot weep but my tears will be flowing;
You will not linger when I shall have died, love;
I could not live without you at my side, love.

Come to me, dear, ere I die of my sorrow;
Rise on my gloom like the sun of to-morrow;

Come swift and strong as the words which I speak, love,
With a song on your lip and a smile on your cheek, love;
Come, for my heart in your absence is dreary;
Haste, for my spirit is sickened and weary;
Come to the arms which alone shall caress thee;
Come to the heart that is throbbing to press thee.

JOSEPH BRENAN.

Rock me to Sleep.

BACKWARD, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,

Make me a child again just for to-night!

Mother, come back from the echoless shore,
Take me again to your heart as of yore;
Kiss from my forhead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;-
Rock me to sleep, mother-rock me to sleep!

Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!
I am so weary of toil and of tears,—
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,—
Take them, and give me my childhood again!
I have grown weary of dust and decay,—
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away;
Weary of sowing for others to reap ;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,-rock me to sleep!