id="id00134">But now I love to lure them on,
  To make them slaves to my gaze,
Like serfs to a conqueror's chariot,
  Like moths to a candle-blaze.
I melt most royally time, the pearl,
  And quaff the cup like a queen,
And forget in the dizzy tumult and whirl,
  The woman I might have been.

LITTLE NELL.

Clasp your arms round her neck to-night,
        Little Nell,
Arms so delicate, soft and white,
And yet so strong in love's strange might;
Clasp them around the kneeling form,
Fold them tenderly close and warm,
        And who can tell
But such slight links may draw her back,
Away from the fatal, fatal track;
        Who can tell,
        Little Nell?

Press your lips to the lips of snow,
        Little Nell;
Oh baby heart, may you never know
The anguish that makes them quiver so;
But now in her weakness and mortal pain,
Let your kisses fall like a dewy rain,
        And who can tell
But your innocent love, your childish kiss
May lure her back from the dread abyss;
        Who can tell,
        Little Nell.

Lay your cheek on her aching breast,
        Little Nell;
To you 'tis a refuge of holy rest,
But a dying bird never drooped its crest
With a deadlier pain in its wounded heart;
Ah! love's sweet links may be torn apart,
        Little Nell;
The altar may flame with gems and gold,
And splendor be bought, and peace be sold,
        But is it well,
        Little Nell?

Veil her face with your tresses bright,
        Little Nell;
Hide that vision out of her sight—
Those dark dark eyes with their tender light—
Uplift your pure face, can it be
She will bid farewell to heaven and thee,
        Little Nell?
No; your mute lips plead with eloquent power,
Her tears fall like a tropic shower;
        All is well,
        Little Nell.

Close your blue eyes now in sleep,
        Little Nell;
Her angel smiles to see her weep;
At morn a ship will cleave the deep,
And one alone will be borne away,
And one will clasp thee close, and pray;
        Oh Little Nell,
Never, never beneath the sun,
Will you dream what you this night have done,
        Done so well,
        Little Nell.

THE FISHER'S WIFE.

A long, low waste of yellow sand
Lay shining northward far as eye could reach,
Southward a rocky bluff rose high
Broken in wild, fantastic shapes.
Near by, one jagged rock towered high,
And o'er the waters leaned, like giant grim,
Striving to peer into the mysteries
The ocean whispers of continually,
And covers with her soft, treacherous face.
For the rest, the sun was sinking low
Like a great golden globe, into the sea;
Above the rock a bird was flying
In dizzy circles, with shrill cries,
And on a plank floated from some wreck,
With shreds of musty seaweed
Clinging to it yet, a woman sat
Holding a child within her arms;
A sweet-faced woman—looking out to sea
With dark, patient eyes, and singing to the child,
And this the song she in the sunset sang:

Thine eyes are brown, my beauty, brown and bright,
  Drowned deep in languor now, the angel Sleep
Is clasping thee within her arms so white,
  Bearing thee up the dreamland's sunny steep.
             Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

Thy father's boat, I see its swaying shroud
  Like a white sea-gull, swinging to and fro
Against the ledges of a crimson cloud,
  A tiny bird with flutt'ring wing of snow.
             Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

Thy father toils beyond the harbor bar,
  And, singing at his toil, he thinks of thee;
Lit by the red lamp of the evening star
  Home will he come, will come to thee and me,
             Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

His cabin shall be bright with flowers sweet,
  The table shall be set, the fire shall glow,
We'll wait within the door, his coming steps to greet,
  And if my eye be sad, he will not know—
             Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

He will not pause to ponder things so slight,
  He is not one a smile to prize or miss;
Yet he would shield us with a strong arm's might,
  And he will meet us with a loving kiss—
             Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

But would I could forget those other days
  When if with gayer gleam mine eyes had shone,
Or shade of sorrow, gentlest eyes would gaze
  With tender questioning into my own.
             Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

Thine eyes are brown—thou hast thy father's eyes,
  But those, my darling, those were clear and blue,
Ah, me! how sorrowfully that sea-bird cries,
  Cries for its mate, oh, tender bird and true;
             My, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

Oh, of my truest love well worthy he,
  And near was I, ah, nearest to his heart;
But ships are parted on the dreary sea
  Swept by the waves, forever swept apart—
             Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

And sometimes sad-eyed women sighing say,
  Sweet love is lost, all that remains is rest,
So in their weakness they are lured to lay
  Their head upon some strong and loving breast.
             Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

Our cabin stands upon the dreary sands,
  And it is sad to be alone, alone.
But on my bosom thou hast lain thy hands,
  Near to me art thou, near, my precious one—
             My, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

The red light faded as she sung,
A chill breeze rose and swept across the sea,
She drew her cloak still closer round the child,
And turned toward the cabin;
As she went a faint glow glimmered
In the east, and slowly rose—
The silver crescent of the moon.
Another, paler light, than the warm sunset glow,
But clear enough to guide her home.

THE LAND OF LONG AGO.

Now while the crimson light fades in the west,
  And twilight drops her purple shadows low—
We stand with Memory on the mountain's crest,
  That overlooks the land of Long Ago.

Unmoved and still the form beside us stands,
  While mournful tears our heavy eyes o'erflow,
As silently he lifts his shadowy hands,
  And points us to the land of Long Ago.

It lies in beauty 'neath our sad eyes' range,
  Bathed in a richer light, a warmer glow;
For fairer moons, and sunsets rare and strange,
  Illume the landscape of the Long Ago.

We see its vales of peace, its hills of light
  Shine in the rosy air, ah! well we know—
That nevermore will bless our yearning sight,
  So fair and dear a land as Long Ago.

We see