Her woman’s nature as the snow-flake falls And melts away into the earth’s warm bosom. Time, as he wandered by, had sighed the hour Of “twelve,” and for a moment midnight’s hush Grew tremulous, and echo as it fell, Swept o’er the tension of her listening ear Softly and thrillingly, and like to Love’s First breathings o’er an unawakened heart. Her voice grew fainter, as a music-vow Stole sweetly in the cadence of her own— She felt the glory of an angel-wing Around her waving, and she knew the hour— Her Spirit-Lover claimed his Spirit-Bride! With pinions intertwining, arms enwreathed And fervid glances bathed in passion’s dream, They swept along the cloud-land pathway, where The constellations, from their silver urns, Poured incense light far down the “Milky-Way,” And o’er its misty pavement Cynthia flung A thousand rainbows, like the wreathed bloom Of bridal blossoms. Still they floated on, Far through the starry armaments that sweep In endless circle round the battlements Of Paradise—an everlasting guard High flaming round the Infinite;—at length, Within the presence-chamber of the Blest, They knelt before the Great Unchangeable, Whose love and mercy whispered audibly, “_Forever be ye one—as God is One!_” * * * * * STORIES FROM THE OLD DRAMATISTS. NO. 1.—MASSINGER’S GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE. BY ENNA DUVAL. “I cannot pretend in these succinct narrations to have rivaled Charles Lamb and his excellent sister in the art of turning drama into narrative. The “Shakspeare Tales” is an unique book, the beauty of which all can perceive who are worth pleasing; but few who have not tried the like, can appreciate the difficulty, the matchless skill of its execution.” Hartley Coleridge. Cozimo, duke of Florence, a noble and virtuous prince had the misfortune to lose, by death, his duchess, Clarinda, a lady of such rare and matchless virtues, that, as he said, the whole world could not produce one worthy to be her second. In her grave he buried all thoughts of woman.