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WOMAN
Not she with traitorous kiss her Saviour stung,
Not she denied him with unholy tongue ;
She, while apostles shrank, could dangers brave,
Last at the cross and earliest at the grave.

EATON STANNARD BARRETT.

ANNABEL LEE
It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love, and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea ;
But we loved with a love that was more than love,

I and my Annabel Lee, —
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of cloud-land, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsman came

And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre,

In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not so happy in heaven,

Went envying her and me.
Yes ! that was the reason (as all men know)

In this kingdom by the sea,
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we,

Of many far wiser than we;
And neither the angels in heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee,

And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
And so, all the night-tide I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life, and my bride,

In her sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

OLD TIMES
'T was thirty years ago, and now

We meet once more,” I sighed and said,
“To talk of Eton and old times ;

But every second word is ‘Dead !'”
We fill the glass, and watch the wine

Rise, as thermometers will do,
Then rouse the fire into a blaze,

And once more, boys, we share the glow.
“Do you remember Hawtrey's time ?

Pod Major, and the way he read ?
And Powis and Old Stokes ? Alas!

Our every second word is ‘Dead !'”
Well, springs must have their autumns too,

And suns must set as they must shine ;
And, waiter, here, a bottle more,

And let it be your oldest wine.
And gather closer to the fire,

And let the gas flare overhead ;
Some day our children will meet thus,
And they will praise or blame the Dead.

ANONYMOUS.

A WOMAN'S LOVE A SENTINEL angel, sitting high in glory, Heard this shrill wail ring out from purgatory : “Have mercy, mighty angel, hear my story! “I loved, and blind with passionate love, I fell ;

Love brought me down to death, and death to Hell ;

For God is just, and death for sin is well.
“I do not rage against his high decree,
Nor for myself do ask that grace shall be ;
But for my love on earth who mourns for me.

“Great Spirit! Let me see my love again
And comfort him one hour, and I were fain
To pay a thousand years of fire and pain.”
Then said the pitying angel, “Nay, repent
That wild vow! Look, the dial finger 's bent
Down to the last hour of thy punishment !”.
But still she wailed, “I pray thee, let me go!
I cannot rise to peace and leave him so.
Oh, let me soothe him in his bitter woe !"
The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar,
And upward, joyous, like a rising star,
She rose and vanished in the ether far.
But soon adown the dying sunset sailing,
And like a wounded bird her pinions trailing,
She fluttered back, with broken-hearted wailing.
She sobbed, “I found him by the summer sea
Reclined, his head upon a maiden's knee,
She curled his hair and kissed him. Woe is me!”
She wept, “Now let my punishment begin !
I have been fond and foolish. Let me in
To expiate my sorrow and my sin.”
The angel answered, “Nay, sad soul, go higher !
To be deceived in your true heart's desire
Was bitterer than a thousand years of fire."

JOHN HAY.

FISHING SONG
Down in the wide gray river

The current is sweeping strong ;
Over the wide gray river

Floats the fisherman's song.
The oar-stroke times the singing,

The song falls with the oar ;
And an echo in both is ringing,

I thought to hear no more.
Out of a deeper current,

The song brings back to me
A cry from mortal silence,

Of mortal agony.
Life that was spent and vanished,

Love that had died of wrong,
Hearts that are dead in living,

Come back in the fisherman's song.

I see the maples leafing,

Just as they leafed before,
The green grass comes no greener

Down to the very shore —
With the rude strain swelling, sinking,

In the cadence of days gone by,
As the oar, from the water drinking,

Ripples the mirrored sky.
Yet the soul hath life diviner :

Its past returns no more,
But in echoes, that answer the minor

Of the boat-song from the shore.
And the ways of God are darkness;

His judgment waiteth long ;
He breaks the heart of a woman
With a fisherman's careless song.

ROSE TERRY COOKE.

A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE

A LIFE on the ocean wave,

A home on the rolling deep;
Where the scattered waters rave,

And the winds their revels keep !
Like an eagle caged I pine

On this dull, unchanging shore :
Oh, give me the flashing brine,

The spray and the tempest's roar !
Once more on the deck I stand

Of my own swift-gliding craft :
Set sail ! farewell to the land ;

The gale follows fair abaft.
We shoot through the sparkling foam,

Like an ocean-bird set free,-
Like the ocean-bird, our home

We 'll find far out on the sea.
The land is no longer in view,

The clouds have begun to frown ;
But with a stout vessel and crew,

We'll say, Let the storm come down !
And the song of our hearts shall be,

While the wind and the waters rave,
A home on the rolling sea !
A life on the ocean wave!

EPES SARGENT. ALONE BY THE BAY

He is gone, O my heart, he is gone;

And the sea remains, and the sky; And the skiffs flit in and out,

And the white-winged yachts go by. And the waves run purple and green,

And the sunshine glints and glows, And freshly across the Bay

The breath of the morning blows. I liked it better last night,

When the dark shut down on the main,
And the phantom fleet lay still,

And I heard the waves complain.
For the sadness that dwells in my heart,

And the rune of their endless woe,
Their longing and void and despair,
Kept time in their ebb and flow.

LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON.

THE TEMPEST

We were crowded in the cabin,

Not a soul would dare to sleep,It was midnight on the waters

And a storm was on the deep. 'T is a fearful thing in winter

To be shattered by the blast, And to hear the rattling trumpet

Thunder, “Cut away the mast !” So we shuddered there in silence,

For the stoutest held his breath, While the hungry sea was roaring,

And the breakers talked with Death. As thus we sat in darkness,

Each one busy in his prayers, “ We are lost!" the captain shouted,

As he staggered down the stairs. But his little daughter whispered,

As she took his icy hand, “Isn't God upon the ocean

Just the same as on the land ?”

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