'Tis when I yield my wearied frame To slumber's magic powers, By thy dear side, Thine own loved bride, I rove through Dreamland's bowers. Oh, dim are all my earthly joys To those that greet me there, And in my dream It ne'er doth seem That Heaven can be more fair. Gray morning breaks o'er yonder hill; My visions bright are past, Yet ere they fly, The spirits sigh, "Thy dream-kiss was the last!" When twilight's magic hour draws nigh, And Thought is roaming free, When evening's breeze Sighs through the trees, Thy spirit comes to me. Oh, 'tis a holy presence then That's stealing o'er my breast; The magic power Of that sweet hour Lulls my sad heart to rest. And on my brow I feel a touch, A breathing touch of bliss; The spirit-sigh Is hovering nigh, That touch, the spirit-kiss. 'Tis here, 'tis here! I feel it now— Yes, o'er my heart 'tis cast, And voices sweet Once more repeat "The spirit-kiss is last." SECRET LOVE. BY KATE HARRINGTON. RAISE me gently—gently, sister, that my brow may catch the breeze Softly gliding through the casement from yon grove of orange-trees; That mine ear may drink the music gushing forth in mellow lays, Made by song-birds sweetly warbling their evening hymns of praise; That mine eye again may wander to the bosom of yon stream, Where the ripples dance as lightly as young fairies in a dream. Now bend your ear, my sister, for my life is ebbing fast, And my heart must tell its secret before the dream is past; It is all the grief I've cherished that thou hast never known, For, save this, my thoughts have ever found an echo in thine own. It were better not to tell thee, but my spirit spurns control, And the words I would not utter seem escaping from my soul. Dost thou remember, sister, how in sunny youth we played On the margin of yon streamlet in the orange branches' shade? Or, when the evening twilight threw its veil o'er stream and wood, And we saw the stars grow dizzy and tremble where they stood, How we twined the pure white blossoms in the ringlets of our hair, And wondered if the dew-drops would come to nestle _there_? Hast thou forgotten, sister, life's bright, unclouded spring, When thy thoughts were just as joyous as wild birds on the wing, When young Clarence stood beside thee, and the words he dared to speak Made thy spirit leap for gladness and sent blushes to thy cheek? I had worshipped him in secret; he knew not my distress, And in secret I resigned him, but loved thee none the less.