I said that no sorrow should roughen her way-
Her life should be cloudless, a long summer's day.
Shadow and sunshine, thistles and flowers,
Which of the two, darling, most have been ours?
Yet to-night, by the smile on your lips, I can see
You are dreaming of me, darling, dreaming of me.

Laura, my darling, the stars, that we knew

In our youth, are still shining as tender and true;
The midnight is sounding its slumberous bell,
And I come to the one who has loved me so well.
Wake, darling, wake, for my vigil is done;
What shall dissever our lives which are one?
Say, while the rose listens under her breath,
"Naught until death, darling, naught until death!"

THE BONNY BROWN HAND.

BY PAUL H. HAYNE.

I.

OH, drearily, how drearily, the somber eve comes down!

And wearily, how wearily, the seaward breezes blow!

But place your little hand in mine-so dainty, yet so brown!
For household toil hath worn away its rosy-tinted snow;

But I fold it, wife, the nearer,

And I feel, my love, 'tis dearer
Than all dear things of earth,

As I watch the pensive gloaming,

And my wild thoughts cease from roaming,

And bird-like furl their pinions close beside our peaceful hearth: Then rest your little hand in mine, while twilight shimmers down

That little hand, that fervent hand, that hand of bonny brown—
The hand that holds an honest heart, and rules a happy hearth.

II.

Oh, merrily, how merrily, our children's voices rise!

And cheerily, how cheerily, their tiny footsteps fall!

But, hand, you must not stir awhile, for there our nestling lies,
Snug in the cradle at your side, the loveliest far of all;

And she looks so arch and airy,

So softly pure a fairy

She scarce seems bound to earth;

And her dimpled mouth keeps smiling,

As at some child-fay's beguiling,

Who flies from Ariel realms to light her slumbers on the hearth.
Ha, little hand, you yearn to move, and smooth the bright locks down!
But, little hand-but, trembling hand-but, hand of bonny brown,
Stay, stay with me !-she will not flee, our birdling on the hearth.

III.

Oh, flittingly, how flittingly, the parlor-shadows thrill,

As wittingly, half wittingly, they seem to pulse and pass!

And solemn sounds are on the wind that sweeps the haunted hill,
And murmurs of a ghostly breath from out the grave-yard grass.
Let me feel your glowing fingers

In a clasp that warms and lingers
With the full, fond love of earth,
Till the joy of love's completeness

In this flush of fireside sweetness

Shall brim our hearts with spirit-wine, outpoured beside the hearth.
So steal your little hand in mine, while twilight falters down-
That little hand, that fervent hand, that hand of bonny brown-
The hand which points the path to heaven, yet makes a heaven of

earth.

EIGHTH EVENING.

Now appeareth Woman as the Heroine of Romantic Story, in which Character the Poets of all Lands have bedight her with much Splendor.

THE HEROINES OF SHAKESPEARE.

(Woman as the heroine of romance has filled all legendary story, all historic periods, and a large place in every literature. But, rich as the annals are, some of the noblest figures do not appear in poetry in a manner to admit of quotation. In narrative poems there are frequently glowing and particular descriptions, but in dramatic literature women are generally revealed in the true spirit of dramatic art, by what they say and do, rather than by definite delineation. Nevertheless, selections of poetry in honor of women that neglected the heroines of Shakespeare would fairly challenge censure, for where in literature is there so exquisite and admirable a sisterhood? What creation in poetry transcends the womanly loveliness of Imogen? Where does the large nobility of woman show fairer than in Portia ? Where can we find such rare blending of brilliant imagination and profound feeling as in Rosalind? What other pastoral lass is so sweet of the meadows as Perdita? But, admirable as these women are, it is not easy to represent them by definite quotation. With some of Shakespeare's heroines, indeed, there is nothing that serves our purpose; but all that comes within the scope of our plan is here presented.)

R°

JULIET.

("Romeo and Juliet.")

OMEO. But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks!
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,