"Where'er she lie, Locked up from mortal eye, In shady leaves of destiny: "Till that ripe birth Of studied fate, stand forth, And teach her fair steps to our earth: "Till that divine Idea take a shrine Of crystal flesh, through which to shine: "Meet you her, my wishes, Bespeak her to my blisses, And be ye call'd my absent kisses." We are not reprinting Crashaw, and must forbear further quotation. It is enough if we have presented to the reader a lily or a rose from his pages, and have given a clue to that treasure-house-- "A box where sweets compacted lie." A generation nurtured in poetic susceptibility by the genius of Keats and Tennyson, should not forget the early muse of Crashaw. His verse is the very soul of tenderness and imaginative luxury: less intellectual, less severe in the formation of a broad, manly character than Herbert; catching up the brighter inspirations of Vaughan, and excelling him in richness--it has a warm, graceful garb of its own. It is tinged with the glowing hues of Spenser's fancy; baptized in the fountains of sacred love, it draws an earthly inspiration from the beautiful in nature and life, as in the devout paintings of the great Italian masters, we find the models of their angels and seraphs on earth. MISERERE DOMINE. BY WILLIAM H. BURLEIGH. Thou who look'st with pitying eye From Thy radiant home on high, On the spirit tempest-tost, Wretched, weary, wandering, lost-- Ever ready help to give, And entreating, "_Look and live!_" By that love, exceeding thought, Which from Heaven the Saviour brought, By that mercy which could dare Death to save us from despair, Lowly bending at Thy feet, We adore, implore, entreat, Lifting heart and voice to Thee-- _Miserere Domine_! With the vain and giddy throng, FATHER! we have wandered long; Eager from Thy paths to stray, Chosen the forbidden way; Heedless of the light within, Hurried on from sin to sin, And with scoffers madly trod On the mercy of our God! Now to where Thine altars burn, FATHER! sorrowing we return. Though forgotten, Thou hast not To be merciful forgot; Hear us! for we cry to Thee-- _Miserere Domine_! From the burden of our grief Who, but Thou, can give relief? Who can pour Salvation's light On the darkness of our night? Bowed our load of sin beneath, Who can snatch our souls from death? Vain the help of man!--in dust Vainly do we put our trust! Smitten by Thy chastening rod, Hear us, save us, SON OF GOD! From the perils of our path, From the terrors of thy wrath, Save us, when we look to thee-- _Miserere Domine_!