But ne'er, I ween, did Roman

More boldly meet his fate

Than Marcus Curtius Lacus

In early times or late.

TO LALISE.

Child, we never should have met :
Fate has dealt an aimless blow,
Which has chanced upon my heart,
Kindling love that dares not glow;
Bitter hours and useless tears,
Shadows that will never pass,
All the brightness of the world
Shattered like a broken glass.
You to me must ever be

More than I can e'er express,

For 'twere madness to declare

That which you must never guess!

I to you a friend will seem

Through the burning days of youth ;

So rehearse and play my part

That no eye shall mark the truth.

Yet my

fancies often frame

All the joy which might have been,

And I paint with golden hues

All the glory of the scene,

Where, beneath Italian skies,

Might have passed our even lives—

Folly more than words can tell,
Scarcely more than love forgives.

I through all the changing years
On a tideless shore shall stand;
What to me the spring or fall
Of the golden-berried land?

BEHIND THE VEIL.

There are times when our God seems away,
With a mask on the face of His sun;
There are hours when the infidels cry,
'The Lord doth not see what is done.'

We have been in the depths of the sea,
We have mixed in the yeast of the waves,
We have stood in the places of tombs-
At the open mouths of the graves.

All indented the crowns of the strong,
With the stroke of the hammer and axe;

All the joints of their harness are loose,

Their bucklers have melted like wax.

We have fled all unclad through the woods,

We have pierced our feet with the briar, We have felt the hot breath of the fiendsA furnace of brimstone and fire !

The mighty have tangled their feet
In the desolate paths of the wood,
They have fallën abroad in their haste,
The dry leaves are red with their blood.

Is our faith but the scope of the eye?
And our strength as of giants who smite?

Is a strong arm the lord of the day,

And a taper queen of the night?

Do we think that our God is away

With a mask on the face of His sun?

Does He hear the glad infidels cry,

'The Lord doth not see what is done?'