SUMMER LOST.

WHAT is the summer

Of which they speak?

How shall we find it?

Where shall we seek?

The spring has passed over,

It would not stay;

It was too bright,

So it vanished away.

I saw the white stars

Over the grass,

And the daffodils golden

Arise and pass.

The merles were singing

As evening fell

Of something coming

Too sweet to tell.

A whisper flushed

Through the twilight pale;

The lily, the rose,

And the nightingale.

I listen for them ;

And what has come?

The leaves are falling,

The birds are dumb.

The scentless sunflowers

Are open brown; Through empty branches

The rain pours down.

Is this the summer

I waited for?

Is it come? or coming

Nevermore?

A MIDSUMMER DAY'S DREAM.

PART I.

AT midday or at midnight it is dim

Under the Dome; but the high altar lights

Mark the high hours, and one forgets the sun.
For never could in any sunshine sweep
Such floods of music, overmastering

The vast and glooming spaces, sad and strong

As Love in strife with Death. The full choir swells And falls, in long-drawn passionate harmony,

And all the great Dome seems as built and borne On music only, save where gloriously

Burns the high altar in its hundred lights

Dazzling and tall, and over all of them

Rises the Crucifix, and from its height

Christ with the Crown of Thorns looks down and

reigns.

I know not whether it was night or day,

Being always twilight there ;—the music pealed;
Row above row the altar tapers burned

Up to the feet of Christ ;-the incense rose
In dreamy clouds, and higher rose the chaunts,
As if they sang for One, and One alone,
He hearkening in His passion unto them.

O Christ! they chaunted, conquer Death for us! Remember us as we remember Thee;

We are Thine, and Thou art ours for evermore !
And in the midst, Christ crucified, adored,

Uplifted on the music and the lights,
Seemed not to suffer, only to endure
In silent rapture of unshrinking calm.
The hour is come, the Son is glorified,
And Thou, O God, art glorified in Him!
Sang the sweet voices in a solemn strain.
And still the heart and eyes drew to the One
Set for a sign there betwixt earth and heaven,
And felt it was not hard to watch with Him.

I know not how the passionate hours went by ; But they were ending, and the High Mass done : And those who filled the great cathedral floor, Seeming at home in the warm shadowy space, Began to pour away; the chaunts went low

And sorrowing, and single voices wailed
As in farewell; and one by one the lights
Extinguished on the altar, left the Dome
In darkness, and the last note sank away.
The footfalls of the multitude grew faint

Toward the far doors, and none turned back to

look,

Departing to the outer life and air.

The dim and empty height grew cold and grey;

The smoke from dying tapers curled around

The dying Christ, and He was left alone
Upon His Cross, without a worshipper.
And now indeed the Passion of His soul
Began to enter into me, and I

Was loth to leave Him too ;-the hour of light
And music was for Him and us; but all
The hours of silence and of darkness were
For Him alone; and while we slept or went,
Upon the Cross He suffered evermore.

So some long time it seemed I watched with Him,
Under the drooping brows and stiffening limbs ;
And then my heart was weary too, and I

Left Him, and He remains there all alone.