They were beautiful, they were young, they were happy. The evil days arrived--and they were wretched, and lacked strength to bear their wretchedness. They are gone where ONE alone must judge them--may HE have pity on their weakness. REQUIESCANT! THE LOST PLEIAD. BY HENRY B. HIRST. Beautiful sisters! tell me, do you ever Dream of the loved and lost one, she who fell And faded, in love's turbid, crimson river-- The sacred secret tell? Calmly the purple heavens reposed around her, And, chanting harmonies, she danced along; Ere Eros in his silken meshes bound her, Her being passed in song. Once on a day she lay in dreamy slumber; Beside her slept her golden-tongued lyre; And radiant visions--fancies without number-- Filled breast and brain with fire. She dreamed; and, in her dreams, saw, bending o'er her, A form her fervid fancy deified; And, waking, viewed the noble one before her, Who wooed her as his bride. What words--what passionate words he breathed, beseeching, Have long been lost in the descending years: Nevertheless she listened to his teaching, Smiling between her tears. And ever since that hour the happy maiden Wanders unknown of any one but Jove; Regretting not the lost Olympian Aidenn In the Elysium--Love! SUNSET AFTER RAIN. BY ALFRED B. STREET. All day, with humming and continuous sound, Streaking the landscape, has the slant rain fall'n; But now the mist is vanishing; in the west The dull gray sheet, that shrouded from the sight The sky, is rent in fragments, and rich streaks Of tenderest blue are smiling through the clefts. A dart of sunshine strikes upon the hills, Then melts. The great clouds whiten, and roll off, Until a steady blaze of golden light Kindles the dripping scene. Within the east, The delicate rainbow suddenly breaks out; Soft air-breaths flutter round; each tree shakes down A shower of glittering drops; the woodlands burst Into a chorus of glad harmony; And the rich landscape, full of loveliness, Fades slowly, calmly, sweetly, into night. Thus, sometimes, is the end of Human life. In youth and manhood, sorrows may frown round; But when the sun of Being lowly stoops, The darkness breaks away--the tears are dried; The Christian's hope--a rainbow--brightly glows, And life glides sweet and tranquil to the tomb. MONTEZUMA MOGGS. THAT WAS TO BE. BY THE LATE JOSEPH C. NEAL.