SONNET TO NIAGARA FALLS.

As on the brink of that which men call Death,
Standing 'twixt Time and dread Eternity,
We pause to gaze with fear-suspended breath
On that abyss, whose depths we can not see,
So now, I stand, above thy thundering fall,
Thou Miracle, of marvels most supreme,
Who summons all the world, with trumpet call,
To adore the heavenly genius of thy stream!
In 'wildering confusion, mad disdain
Of earthly trammels, earthly tyrannies,
Shrieking, like legions of damned souls in pain,
Roaring rebellion 'neath the silent skies,
Fearful as Death, still thou dost seem to cry,
"I am the symbol of Eternity!"

THE LOST HEART.

(A Rondeau.)

Where is my heart? Ah! Love, I dare not say,
I only know that it is hid away,
Somehow,—somewhere,—and somewhat restless there.
But safely hid away,—poor heart, somewhere.
I strive to call it back to me, but nay,—
That willful heart refuses to obey.
And do you ask, thus, in your sad, sweet way—
You, Love, who know so well its secret lair,
Where is my heart?
Alone, I wait and wonder, day by day,
At the poor, pulsing heart, that went astray,
Once, in the mazes of a woman's hair.
Could it forsake a labyrinth so fair?
No need for you to ask, for me to say—
Where is my heart?

IS HE NOT MINE?

Is he not, mine? Although he drift from me
Into the Ocean of the Far Away,
Across the tideless and the awful sea
Of Time, while I alone must mutely stay
Within the doorway of a darkened Day;
Although he shake the dust from his light feet,
Dust of my warm Heart's Garden, yet I hold,
My Love forever, radiant, complete.
He breathes upon me when spring buds unfold,
He smiles upon me from the roses' gold;
I hear him in the tender melody
Of mating bird; his laugh rings, glad and free,
In every breeze; like stars his dear eyes shine;
His spirit is a presence, half-divine,
Which clasps, enfolds my being like a sea!
Is he not mine?