As he spoke, the red planet shot madly from its sphere, careering athwart the concave like a sword of fire, it rushed from being, and deeper darkness brooded o’er the expanse. Again his eye sought the milder light of the star he worshiped, when lo! _it had been swept from the face of heaven_. “Be it so, lost Pleiad!” cried the lover, and folding in his arms the pallid lady, leaped from the turret, into the abyss below. ----- [3] Exodus, chapter xxxii. * * * * * ERMENGARDE’S AWAKENING. BY FRANCES S. OSGOOD. Dear God and must we see All blissful things depart from _us_, or ere we go to THEE? E. B. BARRETT. It was an altar worthy of a god! All of pure gold, in furnace fire refined; And never foot profane had near it trod, And never image had been there enshrined; But now a radiant idol claimed the place, And took it with a rare and royal grace. And the proud woman thrilled to its false glory, And when the murmur of her own true soul Told in low, lute-tones Love’s impassioned story, She dreamed the music from that statue stole, And knelt adoring at the silent shrine Her own divinity had mode divine. And with a halo from her heart she crowned it, That shed a spirit-light upon its face, And garlands hung of soul-flowers fondly round it, Wreathing its beauty with immortal grace, And so she felt not, as she gazed, how cold And calm that Eidolon of marble mould. Like Egypt’s queen in her imperial play, She, in abandonment more wildly sweet, Melted the pearl of her pure _Life_ away, And poured the rich libation at its feet, And in exulting rapture _dreamed_ the smile That should have answered in its eyes the while. And all rare gifts she lavished on that altar, Treasures the mines of India could not buy, Nor did her foot-fall for a moment falter, Though the world watched her with an evil eye, And sad friends whispered “Soon she’ll wake to weep, For lo! she walks in an enchanted sleep.” Oh! glorious dreamer! with dark eyes upturned In wondering worship to that godlike brow, How the rare beauty of thy spirit burned In the rapt gaze and in the glowing vow, How didst thou waste on one thy soul should scorn The glory of a blush that mocked the _Morn_! She turned from all—from friendship and the world— Only _Love_ knew the way to that dim glade, And calm her sweet, yet queenly lip had curled Had the world’s whisper reached her in that shade, But she was deaf and dumb and blind to all, Save to the charm that held her heart in thrall.