Open the door of thy heart, And the stars are old, And the leaves of the Judgment WIND AND SEA. THE Sea is a jovial comrade, He lays himself down at the feet of the Sun, And the broad-back'd billows fall faint on the shore, But the Wind is sad and restless, You may hark as you will, by valley or hill, He wails on the barren mountains, He sobs in the cedar, and moans in the pine, Welcome are both their voices, And I know not which is best, The laughter that slips from the Ocean's lips, There's a pang in all rejoicing, A joy in the heart of pain, And the Wind that saddens, the Sea that gladdens, Are singing the self-same strain! JULIA C. R. DORR. Born at Charleston, South Carolina, 1825— WHAT SHE THOUGHT. MARION show'd me her wedding gown Like the heart of a wild rose glow'd her cheek, And they wander'd off through the garden paths, So blest that they did not care to speak. I wonder how it seems to be loved; To know you are fair in some one's eyes; To know that whether you weep or smile, I wonder what it would be to love; Though a thrill ran down to my finger-tips, I wonder what it would be to dream Of a child that might one day be your own, Of the hidden springs of your life a part, Flesh of your flesh, and bone of your bone. Marion stoop'd one day to kiss A beggar's babe, with a tender grace, While some sweet thought, like a prophecy, Look'd from her pure Madonna face. I wonder what it must be to think Down fragrant flowery paths to stray, With Philip, lost in a blissful dream. Can she feel his heart through the silence beat? Questioning thus, my days go on, But never an answer comes to me; OUTGROWN. NAY, you wrong her, my friend! she's not fickle; her love she has simply outgrown : One can read the whole matter, translating her heart by the light of one's own. Can you bear me to talk with you frankly? There is much that my heart would say; And you know we were children together, have quarrell'd and "made up" in play. And so, for the sake of old friendship, I venture to tell you the truth, As plainly, perhaps, and as bluntly, as I might in our earlier youth. Five summers ago, when you woo'd her, you stood on the selfsame plane, Face to face, heart to heart, never dreaming your souls could be parted again. She loved you at that time entirely, in the bloom of her life's early May; And it is not her fault, I repeat it, that she does not love you to-day. Nature never stands still, nor souls either: they ever go up or go down; And hers has been steadily soaring-but how has it been with your own? She has struggled and yearn'd and aspired, grown purer and wiser each year: The stars are not farther above you in yon luminous atmosphere! For she whom you crown'd with fresh roses, down yonder, five summers ago, Has learn'd that the first of our duties to God and ourselves is to grow. Her eyes they are sweeter and calmer; but their vision is clearer as well: Her voice has a tenderer cadence, but is pure as a silver bell. Her face has the look worn by those who with God and his angels have talk'd: The white robes she wears are less white than the spirits with whom she has walk'd. And you? Have you aim'd at the highest? Have you, too, aspired and pray'd? Have you look'd upon evil unsullied? Have you conquer'd it undismay'd? Have you, too, grown purer and wiser, as the months and the years have roll'd on? Did you meet her this morning rejoicing in the triumph of victory won? Nay, hear me! The truth cannot harm you. When today in her presence you stood, Was the hand that you gave her as white and clean as that of her womanhood? Go, measure yourself by her standard; look back on the years that have fled! Then ask, if you need, why she tells you that the love of her girlhood is dead. She cannot look down to her lover: her love like her soul, aspires; He must stand by her side, or above her, who would kindle its holy fires. Now farewell! For the sake of old friendship I have ventured to tell you the truth, As plainly, perhaps, and as bluntly, as I might in our earlier youth. LUCY LARCOM. Born in Massachusetts 1826 A LOYAL WOMAN'S NO. No! is my answer from this cold, bleak ridge, With something that is kinder far than scorn, I am of nature weak as others are; I might have chosen comfortable ways; I might, I will not hide it, once I might Have lost, in the warm whirlpools of your voice, |