Love  him,  fair  child  1"     The  poor  man,  from  liis  door,

Look'd  forth  with  cheerful  face,  and  as  the  eye,

The  soft  eye  of  the  poet,  turn'd  to  his,

A  whisper  from  the  tree  said,  "  This  is  he

Who  knows  thy  heart  is  human  as  his  own,

Who,  with  inspired  numbers,  tells  the  world

That  love  dwells  with  the  lowly.     He  has  made

The  humble  roof  a  burthen  in  sweet  song —

Interpreted  thy  heart  to  happier  men  !

Love  him!  oh,  love  him,  therefore!"    The  stern  man,


W  I  LL I  S    S      P  O  K  M  S.  243

Who,  with  the  tender  spirit  of  a  child,

Walks  in  some  thorny  path,  unloved  and  lone;

The  maiden  with  her  secret;  the  sad  mother,

Speaking  no  more  of  her  dishonor'd  boy.
But,  bound  to  him  with  all  her  heart-strings  yet, —

These  heard  the  trees  say,  as  the  poet  pass'd,

"  Yours  is  the  mournful  poetry  of  life,

And  in  the  sad  lines,  of  your  silent  lips,

Reads  he  with  tenderest  pity !     Knit  to  him

The  hearts  he  opens  like  a  clasped  book,

And,  in  the  honey'd  music  of  his  verse,

Hear  your  dumb  griefs  made  eloquent  1"     With  eye

Watchful  and  moist,  the  poet  kept  his  way,

Unconscious  of  the  love  around  him  springing ;

And  when  from  its  bent  path  the  evening  star

Stepp'd  silently,  and  left  the  lesser  fires

Lonely  in  heaven,  the  poet  had  gone  in,

Mute  with  the  many  sorrows  he  had  seen ;

And,  with  the  constancy  of  starry  eyes,

The  hearts  he  touch'd  drew  to  him.         *        *


THE    THOUGHT    ANGEL.
A.  WAKING   AND   SLKKPINO    DREAM.
NIGHT  is  the  sick  man's  day,
For  the  soul  wakens  as  the  body  fails.
