I leaned my elbow on the crumbling stone,
Painted with lichen and green canker stains;
And whilst I rested for a season brief,
My spirit fell into a quiet muse;

And soon I peopled all the space around
Quaintly in fashions of a day gone by—

The footsteps heard of all that trod those paths,
The old, who tottered in the burning sun—
The lovers, hand in hand, who sought the shade,
In the fresh mornings counted with the Past.
All these, thought I, within this little space
Stood here awhile, and marked with different mood
How the black shadow of the tooth of Time
Devoured the shining circle of the dial.

First came the old man, trembling on his stick ; A moment gazed-then shook his withered handAlas! my time is very short, said he;

And, feeding on the faded picture of his youth,
He passed. Next, came young manhood flushed,
What of the clock it was, at leisure read,
The whilst into the Future fast he pushed.
And then a maid with yellow hair blown back
(Like tearful angel in some missal old),
Who read of broken trysts in ages past,
A moment glanced to see how late the day,
And still no footstep down the pathway came.

Where are they gone-the old and withered man, And the first fresh glorious dew of youth? A passing bell-the fall of bitter tears,

And now upon the hill-side's gentle slope
The sheep are wandering o'er forgotten graves !
And so the people of the garden passed.

Not so the garden. With each gladdening spring, The old roots stir within its ancient breast. The hollyhock shoots spirewise through the air, And hangs her crimson bells out to the bee. The rose unfoldeth to her inmost leaf,

The vine creeps on. The cedar's tardy growth Has jostled out the mossy, crumbling seat, Where once the lovers idled in the shade. Perfect the picture-as it was of old,

Save human hearts which have for ever passed.

Thus musing, down a shady walk I turned. This life, said I, slips very fast away;

But who would stop the running of the sand?
"Twere but the folly of a child, who grasps
The waters of some swiftly running stream,
Which mocking through each vacant finger flows
Down to the great inevitable Sea.

THE PASSING OF THE STORM.

SLOWLY had sailed away the heavy rack
That hung between us and the god of day;
And there remained but one lone cloud and black,
That noiseless moved against the sunny way.

And as it passed, beneath its under-edge,

The Sun sent down his smile upon the earth; Spreading from field to field, from tree to sedge, As laughter spreads around a tale of mirth.

The sunshine now with joyous step moved on
Until it reached a corn-field, spreading wide,
That, pale before the wind, ran swift along,

All blanched with fear, like foam-waves on a tide.

But every ear soon felt the sunlight fall,

And quick upreared its head against the sky,
And shook its yellow beard and form so tall,
As cowards do when danger has gone by.

Released, the glorious orbéd sun did rise,

And Earth smiled gladly through her crystal tears, Glad as the looks that gleam from brimming eyes When joy doth take the place of haunting fears.

And then the splendours of the arch did grow,
The moist earth spanning with its glorious sweep;
A frame of coloured tears its gentle bow,
For many a village spire and rural peep.

Slowly away I saw that lone cloud ride,

Its sluggard shadow loitering o'er the plain; But swift anon it climbed the mountain side, Contorted strange, like some huge thing in pain.

443

THE DESERTED COTTAGE.

RANK nettles grew sidling the barren walls, Grass peeped atween the pathway stones, Green thistles and long ivy falls

At night made sighs and moans.

Yet were there lingering remnants there,
Between the tangling of the weeds,

Of plats, and such trim gardening care,
That still showed faintly through the reeds.

High up the second lattice frame,
Showed all a hollowness behind;
No light was there, no cheerful flame,
No shadow moving thwart the blind.

This mouldering lattice-sill upon,
A large dog-daisy breezes wooed;
And by it when the eve came on,
A lizard crept to seek for food.

The noontide ever found all peace,

No latch did clink, or creaked the floor;

No motion for a lengthened lease

The spider had across the door.

444

LIFE AFTER DEATH.

WITH dancing plumes they brought me up here dead : Dead, and to lie until the end of time.

They cursed me ere the priest had shut his book,

And cast a stone down for the clod of earth;
And here they left me on this hill-side bleak,
Face unto face with my offended God.

Day after day, until the end of time,
Here must I lie within my narrow bed,
And ever gazing upwards must I read
The sneering lies they've graven on my tomb,
Touching the merits of the rich deceased;
Whilst texts of Scripture, circled round with clouds,
And gilded angels at the corners set,
Mask with a smile my dark and utter woe.

Welcome to me each little sound that breaks
The hideous vigil that I'm forced to keep-
The sheep's short bite upon a neighbouring grave—
The stranger's tread in summer evenings calm,
Wandering from stone to stone with pace subdued,
Of epitaphs and ancient dates in search-
And, more than all, the Sabbath's simple bell,
My only measure for the passing time.

Quickly my darkened ear doth catch each sound,
The old rope fraying 'gainst the. belfry beam;
The pathway swarming with quick children's feet,
As files along the punctual village school;