With the joy of life and loving. Gretel wept in bower, apart, With her sad eyes full of sorrow, and a load upon her heart: Often, as she paced the forest, to that turret high she turnea Wistful eye and wishful bosom, where his night-lamp dimly burned. Then she speeded up the stairway, in the gloaming, like a ghost, Heeding not the spectral shadows in the corners, nor the hosts Of grim steel-men,-empty armors,-to his turret-chamber locked; Then she beat upon its portals; stood, and tremblingly she knocked. "Dear my lord!" she cried, entreating, "let me in! for 1 have grown Pale with pining, sad with waiting for your coming, all alone!" "Nay," he answered Gretel sternly: "hearken to thy lord's desire Meddle not with red-hot irons, lest your fingers touch the fire!" Day by day the same stern answer, day by day more loud she prayed At the Wizard's turret portal by its terrors undismayed; Till he yielded to her praying-for he loved her-though he told Of strange horrors she must witness with a courage strong and bold, And tried to intimidate her; but he only tried in vain : For she beat his portals louder, and besought him once again. In that dim, mysterious chamber, with its awful gramarye, Gretel only clasped her hands, and begged its wonders strange to see; Till worn out with her entreating, he consented to enact For his lady; so he cased him in his wondrous cataphract. Thence he spoke-involuntary fear began to blanch her cheek: * When the spell is strong upon me, ye must neither scream nor speak! Fearful things, as I have told ye, ere you forced me with vour prayers, Must be seen by her who listens, who the Wizard's secret shares! When the spell is strong upon me, at the wonders you shall see If ye lisp a cry of horror it will bring catastrophe! 'Neath this castle, unsuspected, lies a stream, which there hath run Since the stars were lit in heaven and first blazed the virgin sun! Bottomless it is, and inky—for there wafts it o'er a breath From the sluggish, dank miasma of the chilly land of death! If ye speak or shriek or whisper when the evil spell is on, Up shall rise the lake-the castle shall be none, ere light of dawn!" Grave she grew, but brave she listened to the wonders he disclosed, As she knelt upon a divan, pale and outwardly composed. Now the formula is spoken--barred and locked the turret door; And the Wizard's form lies writhing like a serpent on the floor. Horrid! how the scales so burnished on the cataphract, appalled, Rose and bristled--as the Wizard through the chamber, sinuous, crawled! Longer stretched his form and thinner, yonder waved the forky tail! And the serpent's eyes fixed on her, made the Wizard's lady quail. Nearer came the human monster, till its hot breath fanned her cheek, And the gaping jaws seemed ready some dark prophecy to speak. Hush-a cry. The spell is broken by the lady's piercing shriek! One loud crash, a sullen murmur sounded through that lonely wood, And a coal-black tarn was dimpling where the castle lately stood! And to-day the peasant, stopping, as he passes through that vale, Pale with awe, in frightened murmurs, tells the traveler the tale. GLORIA BELLI.-WILLIAM J. BENNERS, JR. Written expressly for this Collection. 'Tis early morn. The clash of arms Loud peals the bugle's stirring note, And on the breeze bright banners float; With stately step they pass us by, Clear on their swords the sunlight glows The boy with hair still childish bright; Some limbless, some with shattered face; But oh, the dying! there alone, Praying for water, all in vain Though blood is round them thick as rain; To save them from the dreadful strife. No loved hand wipes the anguished brow; As groaning in deep agony, But famished wolves a requiem howl, Nor is this all. Who can relate Or know what bitter tears are shed Oh! turn we from the saddening story- WAITING-AT THE CHURCH DOOR.* A moment, scarcely more, I stood But in that moment's solemn space I thought, oh! if I stood to-night From this chill earthly bondage free, Would these closed doors swing wide for me? Written expressly for this Collection, Would angels harp my welcome home, Wild thought! my startled spirit swayed Of that sad thought that came to me. But softly fell the deep "Amen!” And rose the voice of praise in song, From darkness into light-oh! heart, THE CHOIR'S WAY OF TELLING IT. Attending services not long ago in an elegant church edifice, where they worship God with taste in a highly æsthetic manner, the choir began that scriptural poem which compares Solomon with the lilies of the field somewhat to the former's disadvantage. Although not possessing a great admiration for Solomon, nor considering him a suitable person to hold up as a shining example -before the Young Men's Christian Association, still a pang of pity for him was felt when the choir, after expressing unbounded admiration for the lilies of the field, which it is doubtful if they ever observed very closely, began to tell the congregation, through the mouth of the soprano, that "Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed.” Straightway the soprano was re-inforced by the bass, who declared that Solomon was most decidedly and emphatically not arrayed,--was not arrayed. Then the alto ventured it as her opinion that Solomon was not arrayed; when the tenor, without a moment's hesitation, sung, as if |