But love hath power, and bears the will To clear all doubts with matchless skill! Before the weeping maid I kneel, My own long cherished love reveal; Believing all, she checks her sighs, And, smiling, gently lifts her eyes, To tell me why I saw her stand Betrothed in Broek-in-Waterland. “With strangers I have dwelt,” she said, “For I’m a lonely orphan maid. They loved me not, and would have sold My hand to one who offered gold. I scorned him, for I knew his soul Was lost to virtue’s safe control. He was a stranger—born in Gand— No son of Broek-in-Waterland!” “Yet hold! he was my friend,” said I; “I loved him well in days gone by.” She answered: “But your friend in youth, In manhood left the paths of truth. For wealth, how steeped his soul in sin! How basely sought my hand to win! And vainly hoped to see me stand His bride in Broek-in-Waterland!” “Why _vainly_ hoped?” I quickly cried. “I scorned their power,” the maid replied— “I loved”—she paused—I knew the rest, And clasped her closely to my breast. I felt that she was truly mine, By honor’s law, by law divine, That none with shame our flight could brand, From hapless Broek-in-Waterland. We never thought of storm or calm, But held our course to Rotterdam. The gale had fallen to a breeze, And sails were spread to greet the seas. We bade our native land adieu, And o’er the waste of waters flew; And soon we touched a foreign strand Far, far from Broek-in-Waterland! And there, in lawful marriage rite, We claimed the triumph of our flight; But many a year had passed before We touched again our native shore. No traces of the storm were seen, The meadows waved in brightest green! We wept with joy once more to stand In happy Broek-in-Waterland! * * * * * MINNIE CLIFTON. A HEART-HISTORY. BY EMMA C. EMBURY. “I wish that those whose vocation it is to tell stories would deal less in the details of human events, and give us a glimpse, sometimes, of the hidden springs which move the human machine, and influence its volition.”