As turning the logs will make a dull fire burn, DRIFT-WOOD. so change of studies a dull brain. Sings the blackened log a tune From a school-boy at his play, THE WIND OVER THE CHIMNEY. Discovered The secret that so long had hovered Upon the misty verge of Truth. With revelations of her light. And the Poet's song again Passed like music through my brain; Night interpreted to me All its grace and mystery. DAYLIGHT AND MOONLIGHT. It was very brief; only a few lines, and not a name mentioned in it; an impulse, an ejaculation of love; every line quivering with electric fire, every word a pulsation of the writer's heart. KAVANAGH. I love thee as the good love heaven. Does not all the blood within me HIAWATHA. A tender heart; a will inflexible. JOHN ENDICOTT. New England Tragedies. MARCH 16. And, to cheer thy solitary labor, remember that the secret studies of an author are the sunken piers upon which is to rest the bridge of his fame, spanning the dark waters of Oblivion. They are out of sight; but without them no superstructure can stand secure! In the elder days of Art, HYPERION. Builders wrought with greatest care For the Gods see everywhere. THE BUILDERS. There is no light in earth or heaven To the red planet Mars. THE LIGHT OF STARS. |