Art thou spirit of a maiden, That restless roam’st the air, With sorrow heavy laden, And breathing thy despair? Or one loved, but long departed, That nightly dost draw near, To soothe the broken-hearted, Who are weeping, pining here? I know not, solemn singer, What thy deep grief may be; Nor why thou here dost linger, But oft thou seem’st like me— A lonely one each morrow, Apart from all the throng, Whose deep and hidden sorrow Bursts forth in plaintive song. * * * * * =HESPERIUS—A VISION.= =BY WM. ALBERT SUTLIFFE.= “Whither, sweet lady, whither? the night is chill; Weary and worn, say, whither tend thy feet?” “Stranger! I come o’er moor and steepy hill, To hear the beat Of ever-toiling billows—and to sail The midnight deep with daring canvas spread; To seek some isle where storm may not prevail— Where tombs are never shaped for loved ones dead— Where palmy summits lay Their shadows in clear fountains all the day, Where lilies lave Their shining tresses in the resting wave; Thither, kind stranger, through the night at rest, I chase the stars down-sloping to the west.” “Lady, sweet lady, let me guard thee thither! The wave is treacherous, shivered oft by storm, And many an ambushed wind quick-bringeth cloudy weather, And towering thunder-mist with secret lightnings warm; Many unseemly rocks love human prey, And devious currents often thrust astray; A thousand maelstroms sing harsh Runic rhyme, And sturdy gales beleaguer any time. Let us be twin in hope, in weal or wo,— Sweet lady, let me go!” She smiled a quiet smile, and “Come,” she said— We entered in, our scanty sail we spread; And as thin mists that creep Out of a dingle deep, Where zephyrs dally, And, wind-caught, float across the dewy lawn, When comes the dawn; So we before the breeze, that then did rally Its powers to bear us on; While she, wrapt up as from the night’s cool kiss, Lay like a chrysalis. Westward we bore through that propitious night— Through the slow-creeping hours the moonshine lay Upon her alabaster breast and tresses bright, Like furbished silver—Houri gone astray From Mahomet’s heaven seemed she—gloriously Shone her deep eyes, till down the silvered west Pale Dian hid her shield in Ocean’s breast.