That which the ear can hear is silent all; But, in the lower stillness which I reach, Now, like the mother, who, with patient care, Drunk up like vapors by the morning sun, My youth is round me, and the silent tomb I mark the flutter of her snowy dress; I tell again the story of my love, I drink again her lip's delicious wine; And, while the same old stars look down above, I dream that I am dreaming, and I start, Then dream that naught so real comes in dreams; Then kiss again to re-assure my heart That she is what she seems. Our steps tend homeward; lingering at the gate, I breathe, and breathe again, my fond good-night. She shuts the cruel door, and still I wait To watch her window-light. I see the shadow of her dainty head On curtains that I pray her hand may stir, Till all is dark; and then I seek my bed To dream I dream of her. Like the swift moon that slides from cloud to cloud, I pierce the phantoms that around me crowd, I clasp warm hands that long have lain in dust, And now, high-gazing toward the starry dome, They pause above, beyond my eager reach, With arms enwreathed and forms of heavenly grace, They breathe no language, but their holy eyes I drink the effluence, till through all my soul With eyelids shut, I hold the vision fast, My God! I thank thee for the bath of sleep, I thank thee for my dreams, which loose the bond And gives it angel wings, to fly beyond I thank thee for these glimpses of the clime Where, when this body sleeps to wake no more, And find unreal all it saw before, And real all that seems. JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND. The pledge of Friendship: it is still divine, PART IV FRIENDSHIP AND SYMPATHY FOREVER THOSE We love truly never die, For death the pure life saves, And life all pure is love; and love can reach - Well blest is he who has a dear one dead : The blessed sweetness of a loving breath Will reach our cheek all fresh through weary years. Thank God for one dear friend, With face still radiant with the light of truth, JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. THE MEMORY OF THE HEART Ir stores of dry and learned lore we gain, We keep them in the memory of the brain; Names, things, and facts, whate'er we knowledge call And images on this cold surface traced Make slight impression, and are soon effaced. But we 've a page, more glowing and more bright, That these may never from the soul depart, |