The morrow brought him; but then he To speak his part deferr'd, While she declared in gladness free, 66 How God her prayer had heard. Nay! it was I!" said he, in haste, "For, listening at your door, Expecting this to hear, I placed The crown upon the floor!' She answer'd-"Why, it came like dew,— And though 't was brought to me by you, "Thanks that you brought it,—be it so; FOR A LIFE. DEEP the water in the hollow on the hill Deep and lone; Wild the wind as if directed by no will, Save its own; There, at midnight dark and dreary, Came a woman weak and weary, Yet hope-aided o'er the moor; But the wind, as if directed by no will Save its own, Travell'd howling o'er the tempest-troubled hill, Wild and lone! In the valley, full a mile off, lay the town,— But it slept; Save where topers, at the wakeful "Rose and Crown," Revel kept: Thence, and for a wager, started To the hollow on the hill: As the horse had own'd his will! Knew he what his midnight gallop to the hill Well could mean ? Answer,-cry of woe and terror, wild and shrill;— Hark! the scream! To the water in the hollow on the hill, Deep and lone; Will the death-devoted woman, cold and still, No! the gallop in the distance How the murder-meaners fled! While the horseman brought the woman, Else had left alone, and dead. For a wager! did the rider, proud of skill, Dare the strife? Say it not, for God had sent him to the hill, FOR A LIFE! PLEASANT WORDS. What are they like? What is the sunshine like, That wakes the snowdrop in the vernal morn, And calls the lark aloft into the cloud That it has glorified? What are they like? What is the soft gale like, that gently comes From the fair realm where winter never went Telling to shuddering hearers tales of storm ? What are they like, and how much do they cost? What is the wayside well like, pure and cool, Unto the thirsty and wayfaring man, And how much costs the crystal stream to him? For they resemble much the pleasants words— L THERE 's music in the words, There's pleasure in the tone, There 's glory in the sound; It biddeth gloom retire; And lighteth life with gladness round, The words are words of wealth, And when it comes to this, That death obscures the sun; The words that wed the soul to bliss, Are the good words-" Well done!" POEMS, TALES, AND SONGS. 163 There's music in the words; The melody of rest; A seraph hand among the chords JOY. WHEN life is gilded with the gold of hope; O! the dark ragged looks, Put on because the wearer is put out Out of the pleasant palace of good-temper, Are most distressing wear! But why put out? And why disgrace the fair immortal mind With wretched raiment patched of grief or rage, There is joy, Yea in this so-called shadow-vale of tears, "A thing of beauty is a joy," |