As a landbird far at sea Doth wander through the sleet And drooping downward wearily Finds no rest for her feet, So wandereth my memory O’er the years when we did meet: I used to say that everything Partook a share of thee, That not a little bird could sing, Or green leaf flutter on a tree, That nothing could be beautiful Save part of thee were there, That from thy soul so clear and full All bright and blessed things did cull The charm to make them fair; And now I know That it was so, Thy spirit through the earth doth flow And face me whereso’er I go,— What right hath perfectness to give Such weary weight of wo Unto the soul which cannot live On anything more low? Oh leave me, leave me, Marian, There’s no fair thing I see But doth deceive me, Marian, Into sad dreams of thee! A cold snake gnaws my heart And crushes round my brain, And I should glory but to part So bitterly again, Feeling the slow tears start And fall in fiery rain: There’s a wide ring round the moon, The ghost-like clouds glide by, And I hear the sad winds croon A dirge to the lowering sky; There’s nothing soft or mild In the pale moon’s sickly light, But all looks strange and wild Through the dim, foreboding night: I think thou must be dead In some dark and lonely place, With candles at thy head, And a pall above thee spread To hide thy dead, cold face; But I can see thee underneath So pale, and still, and fair, Thine eyes closed smoothly and a wreath Of flowers in thy hair; I never saw thy face so clear When thou wast with the living, As now beneath the pall, so drear, And stiff, and unforgiving; I cannot flee thee, Marian, I cannot turn away, Mine eyes must see thee, Marian, Through salt tears night and day. * * * * * THE PEWEE. BY DILL A. SMITH. In hedges where the wild brier-rose, Woos to its breast the sweets of June; When soft the balmy south-wind blows, The Pewee trills its simple tune. And when on glade and upland hill Shines out the sultrier July’s sun; And forest shade and bubbling rill The red-bird’s shriller notes have won, Oh then along the dull road side— (As if the deepening gloom to cheer) The Pewee loves to wander wide— There still its airy lay you hear. Or now, when more familiar grown, It seeks the busier haunts of men; And to the welcome barn roof flown, Renews its joyous song again.