The  babbling  silvery  rivulet  at  our  feet,
Sang  o'er  again  the  dear  old  magic  song ;

And  e'en  the  birds  caught  up  the  echo  sweet,
As  fast  it  sped  along

Far  to  the  sunny  Southland,  where  no  night,
No  winter  of  the  year  can  ever  come ;

But  where  Queen  Summer  reigns  forever  bright,
In  her  perpetual  home.
Ah,  me !  we  little  thought  that  day  the  stream
Of  our  lives  should  flow  so  far  apart ;

Your's  rolls  as  calmly  as  a  summer's  dream,
Needing  no  sorcerer's  art

To  chase  the  shade  of  sorrow  from  thy  brow.
Or  from  thy  heart  the  demon  of  unrest ;

You  've  love  and  peace  and  quiet  with  you  now,
No  phantom  haunts  thy  breast.
5


82  UNREST.
Mine  rolls  on  the  tumultuous  sea  of  life,
And  oft  the  angry  waves  sweep  o'er  the  deck,

Taking  all  peace  and  quiet  in  their  strife,
And  leaving  but  a  wreck.
The  shadows  of  the  past  still  hover  round,
Pursued  by  the  grim  demon  of  despair.
Dear  friend,  where  shall  sweet,  perfect  peace  be
found  ?
Alas !  alas !  not  here.
TO  M.  R.  R,  83


¥o  M-  %  %


"Yes,  by  the  magic  of  a  word,

A  far-off  stranger  is  a  friend ;
With  face  unseen,  with  voice  unheard,
Yet  whose  deep  soul  our  own  hath  stirred

By  kindred  thoughts  that  meet  and  blend." — M.  R.  R.
TDEYOND  the  Ocean's  snowy  wave,  beyond  the

-*— ^     mountain's  peak,

We  stretch  our  hands  across  the  sea,  to  find  the  one

we  seek ;
The  lengthening  miles  may  intervene,  years  after

years  may  roll.
Yet  they  can  never  break  the  chain  that  binds  the

kindred  soul.
