And these he commanded to bear far away,-out of reach,

out of view,

Out of hope, out of memory,-higher than Ararat buildeth

his throne,

In the Urn of Oblivion the Apple of Life.

But on green jasper-stone

And

Did the King write the story thereof for instruction.

Enoch, the seer,

Coming afterward, searched out the meaning. And he that

hath ears, let him hear.

ROBERT BULWER LYTTON.

HEAR

The Paradise Bird.

(From Lucile.)

EAR a song that was born in the land of my birth!
The anchors are lifted, the fair ship is free;

And the shout of the mariners floats in its mirth
'Twixt the light in the sky, and the light on the sea.

And the ship is a world: She is freighted with souls, She is freighted with merchandise: proudly she sails, With the Labor that stores, and the Will that controls, The gold in the ingots, the silk in the bales.

From the gardens of Pleasure where reddens the rose,
And the scent of the cedar is faint on the air,
Past the harbors of Traffic sublimely she goes
Man's hopes on the world of the waters to bear!

Where the cheer from the harbors of Traffic is heard,
Where the gardens of Pleasure fade fast on the sight,
O'er the rose, o'er the cedar there passes a bird ;-
'Tis the Paradise Bird, never known to alight.

And that bird, bright and bold as a poet's desire,
Roams her own native heavens, the realms of her birth;
There she soars like a seraph, she shines like a fire,
And her plumage hath never been sullied by earth.

And the mariners greet her : there's song on each lip
For that bird of good omen, and joy in each eye;
And the ship and the bird, and the bird and the ship,
Together go forth over ocean and sky.

Fast, fast fades the land! for the rose-gardens flee
And far fleet the harbors. In regions unknown
The ship is alone on a desert of sea,

And the bird in a desert of sky is alone.

In those regions unknown, o'er that desert of air,
Down that desert of waters-tremendous in wrath,
The storm wind Euroclydon leaps from his lair,

And cleaves through the waves of the ocean his path.

And the bird in the cloud, and the ship on the wave,
Overtaken, are beaten about by wild gales;
And the mariners all rush their cargo to save,
Of the gold in the ingots, the silk in the bales.

Lo! a wonder, which never before hath been heard,
For it never before hath been given to sight;
On the ship hath descended the Paradise Bird,
The Paradise Bird, never known to alight!

The bird which the mariner blessed, when each lip
Had a song for the omen that gladdened each eye,

The bright bird for shelter had flown to the ship

From the wrath on the sea, and the wrath in the sky.

But the mariners heed not the bird any more:

They are felling the masts—they are furling the sails— Some are working, some weeping, and some wrangling o'er Their gold in the ingots, their silk in the bales.

Souls of men are on board; wealth of men in the hold; And the storm-wind Euroclydon sweeps to his prey : And who heeds the bird? “Save the silk and the gold! And the bird from her shelter the gust sweeps away!

Poor Paradise Bird! on her lone flight once more

Back again in the wake of the wind she is driven— To be whelmed in the storm, or above it to soar,

And, if rescued from ocean, to vanish in heaven!

And the ship rides the waters, and weathers the gales;
From the haven she nears the rejoicing is heard :
All hands are at work on the ingots, the bales,
Save a child sitting lonely who misses the bird!

ROBERT BULWER LYTTON.

Sister Helen.

HY did you melt your waxen man,

WHY

Sister Helen ?

To-day is the third since you began."

"The time was long, yet the time ran,

Little brother."

(O Mother, Mary Mother,

Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven !)

"But if you have done your work aright,

Sister Helen,

You will let me play, for you said I might."

Little brother."

(0 Mother, Mary Mother,

Third night, to-night, between Hell and Heaven!)

"You said it must melt ere vesper-bell,

Sister Helen;

If now it be molten, all is well."

“Even so; nay, peace! you cannot tell,

Little brother."

(0 Mother, Mary Mother,

O what is this, between Hell and Heaven?)

Oh, the waxen knave was plump to-day, Sister Helen ; How like dead folk he has dropped away!" "Nay, now, of the dead what can you say,

(0 Mary, Mary Mother,

What of the dead, between Hell and Heaven?)

"See, see, the sunken pile of wood,

Sister Helen,

Shines through the thinned wax red as blood!" “Nay, now, when looked you yet on blood,

Little brother?'

(0 Mary, Mary Mother,

How pale she is, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Now close your eyes, for they're sick and sore, Sister Helen,

And I'll play without the gallery door."

"Aye, let me rest,-I'll lie on the floor,

Little brother."

(0 Mary, Mary Mother,

What rest to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

'Here, high up in the balcony,

Sister Helen,

The moon flies face to face with me."

'Aye, look and say whatever you see,

Little brother."

(0 Mary, Mary Mother,

What sight to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Outside it's merry in the wind's wake,

Sister Helen ;

In the shaken trees the chill stars shake."
"Hush, heard you a horse-tread as you spake,
Little brother?"

(0 Mary, Mary Mother,

What sound to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

Whence should they come, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Oh, its Keith of Eastholm rides so fast,

Sister Helen,

For I know the white mane on the blast." "The hour has come, has come at last,

Little brother!"

(0 Mary, Mary Mother,

Her hour at last, between Hell and Heaven!)

"He has made a sign and called, Halloo! Sister Helen,

And he says that he would speak with you." "Oh, tell him I fear the frozen dew,

Little brother."

(0 Mary, Mary Mother,

Why laughs she thus, between Hell and Heaven?)

"The wind is loud, but I hear him cry,

Sister Helen,

That Keith of Ewern's like to die.'

"And he and thou, and thou and I,

Little brother."

(0 Mary, Mary Mother,

And they and we, between Hell and Heaven!)