Let through!-such glory should have radiant room!
Let through!—a star-child on its light goes home!

"Speak to me, brethren bright!

Ye who are floating in these living beams!
Ye who have come to me in starry dreams!
Ye who have wing'd the light

Of our bright mother with its thoughts of flame-
-(I knew it pass'd through spirits as it came)-

"Tell me what power have ye?

What are the heights ye reach upon your wings?
What know ye of the myriad wondrous things

I perish but to see?

Are ye thought-rapid ?-Can ye fly as far-
As instant as a thought, from star to star?

"Where has the Pleiad gone ?

Where have all missing stars* found light and home?
Who bids the Stella Mirat go and come?

*Missing stars' are often spoken of in the old books of astronomy. Hipparchus mentions one that appeared and vanished very suddenly; and in the beginning of the sixteenth century Kepler discovered a new star near the heel of the right foot of Serpentarius, "so bright and sparkling that it exceeded any thing he had ever seen before." He "took notice that it was every moment changing into some of the colors of the rainbow, except when it was near the horizon, when it was generally white." It disappeared in the following year, and has not been seen since.

† A wonderful star in the neck of the Whale, discovered by Fabricius in the fifteenth century. It appears and disappears seven times in six years, and continues in the greatest lustre for fifteen days together.

Why sits the Pole-star lone ?

And why, like banded sisters, through the air
Go in bright troops the constellations fair?

"Ben Khorat! dost thou mark ?

The star! the star? By heaven! the cloud drifts o'er ! Gone-and I live! nay-will my heart beat more?

Look! master! 'tis all dark!

Not a clear speck in heaven ?-my eyeballs smother! Break through the clouds once more! oh starry mother!

"I will lie down! Yet stay,

The rain beats out the odor from the gums,

And strangely soft to-night the spice-wind comes !

I am a child alway

When it is on my forehead! Abra sweet!
Would I were in the desert at thy feet!

"My barb! my glorious steed!

Methinks my soul would mount upon its track
More fleetly, could I die upon thy back!
How would thy thrilling speed

Quicken my pulse!-Oh Allah! I get wild!
Would that I were once more a desert-child!

"Nay-nay-I had forgot!

My mother! my star mother!-Ha! my breath
Stifles!- -more air!Ben Khorat! this is-death!
Touch me!- -I feel you not!

Dying!-Farewell! good master!-room! more room! Abra! I loved thee! star! bright star! I

-come!"

How idly of the human heart we speak,
Giving it gods of clay! How worse than vain

Is the school homily, that Eden's fruit
Cannot be pluck'd too freely from "the tree
Of good and evil." Wisdom sits alone,
Topmost in heaven ;-she is its light-its God!
And in the heart of man she sits as high-
Though grovelling eyes forget her oftentimes,
Seeing but this world's idols. The pure mind
Sees her forever: and in youth we come
Fill'd with her sainted ravishment, and kneel,
Worshipping God through her sweet altar-fires,
And then is knowledge "good." We come too oft—
The heart grows proud with fulness, and we soon
Look with licentious freedom on the maid
Throned in celestial beauty. There she sits,
Robed in her soft and seraph loveliness,
Instructing and forgiving, and we gaze
Until desire grows wild, and, with our hands
Upon her very garments, are struck down,
Blasted with a consuming fire from heaven!
Yet, oh! how full of music from her lips
Breathe the calm tones of wisdom! Human praise
Is sweet-till envy mars it, and the touch
Of new-won gold stirs up the pulses well;
And woman's love, if in a beggar's lamp

'Twould burn, might light us clearly through the world;

But Knowledge hath a far more 'wildering tongue,
And she will stoop and lead you to the stars,
And witch you with her mysteries-till gold
Is a forgotten dross, and power and fame
Toys of an hour, and woman's careless love,
Light as the breath that breaks it. He who binds
His soul to knowledge steals the key of heaven-
But 'tis a bitter mockery that the fruit

May hang within his reach, and when, with thirst
Wrought to a maddening frenzy, he would taste-
It burns his lips to ashes!

THE WIFE'S APPEAL.

"Love borrows greatly from opinion. Pride, above all things, strengthens affection."-E. L. BULWER.

He sat and read. A book with silver clasps,

All gorgeous with illuminated lines

Of gold and crimson, lay upon a frame

Before him. 'Twas a volume of old time;

And in it were fine mysteries of the stars

Solved with a cunning wisdom, and strange thoughts,
Half prophecy, half poetry, and dreams

Clearer than truth, and speculations wild

That touch'd the secrets of your very soul,

They were so based on Nature. With a face
Glowing with thought, he pored upon the book.
The cushions of an Indian loom lay soft
Beneath his limbs, and, as he turn'd the page,
The sunlight, streaming through the curtain's fold,
Fell with a rose-tint on his jewell'd hand;
And the rich woods of the quaint furniture
Lay deepening their vein'd colors in the sun,
And the stain'd marbles on the pedestals
Stood like a silent company-Voltaire,
With an infernal sneer upon his lips;

And Socrates, with godlike human love
Stamp'd on his countenance; and orators,

Of times gone by that made them; and old bards,
And Medicean Venus, half divine.

Around the room were shelves of dainty lore,

And rich old pictures hung upon the walls

Where the slant light fell on them; and wrought gems,
Medallions, rare mosaics, and antiques
From Herculaneum, the niches fill'd;

And on a table of enamel, wrought

With a lost art in Italy, there lay

Prints of fair women, and engravings rare,
And a new poem, and a costly toy;

And in their midst a massive lamp of bronze
Burning sweet spices constantly. Asleep
Upon the carpet couch'd a graceful hound,
Of a rare breed, and, as his master gave
A murmur of delight at some sweet line,
He raised his slender head, and kept his eye