Yet I could almost wish deceit were dwelling Within the soul laid bare before me now, That false, false words within thy breast were swelling, That I might read it on thy pallid brow. Or rather, that thou deemedst true and stainless The vows that have just trembled to mine ear; If then thy love could pass away all painless, And leave thee much of hope for gloomy fear. I did not dream that love so high and holy Was nursed so long in silence; and for me! My heart is far too humble, far too lowly, To think that such a passion e’er could be. I read within thine eyes the calm affection A brother feels for one who, wild and weak, Looks up to a strong arm for kind protection; No other language did they seem to speak. And when my hand was warmly grasped at meeting, An answering pressure to thine own it gave. I did not mark thy pulse was wildly beating; _How could I_ think from hopeless love to save? And till I met this eve thy look so thrilling, My spirit had not been by sorrow stirred; But now with tears my heavy eyes are filling, Tears, for the hopes which I this hour have heard. For all the dreams thy soul so long hath cherished, ’Tis mine to bid them vanish at a sound, —Would, rather, that my own high hopes had perished! The spell of love not yet my heart has bound, And ’twould be sin to claim thy high devotion, When I could not return one half its worth; For calmest friendship is the sole emotion That for thee, brother! in that heart hath birth. * * * * * AUTUMN. [PRIZE POEM—for which the Premium of $150 was awarded by the Committee.] BY JESSE E. DOW. ————————For him the hand Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch With blooming gold and blushes like the morn. AKENSIDE. Season of fading glory! Oh how sad, When through the woodland moans thy fitful gale, Shaking the ripen’d nuts from loftiest bough, And down the forest side and sylvan road Whirling the yellow leaves with rustling sound.