A void is in the sky! A light has ceased the seaman's path to cheer, A star has left its ruby throne on high, A world forsook its sphere. Thy sisters bright pursue their circling way, But thou, lone wanderer! thou hast left our vault for aye. Did Sin invade thy bowers, And Death with sable pinion sweep thine air, Blasting the beauty of thy fairest flowers, And God admit no prayer? Didst thou, as fable saith, wax faint and dim With the first mortal breath between thy zone and Him? Did human love, with all Its passionate might and meek endurance strong,-- The love that mocks at Time and scorns the pall, Through conflict fierce and long,-- Live in thy soul, yet know no future's ray? Then, mystic world! 't was well that thou shouldst pass away. Perchance a loftier fate Removed thy radiance from our feeble sight. Did HE, whose Spirit wills but to create, Far upward urge thy flight From this low fraction of expiring time, To realms where ages roll, as hours, in peace sublime? E'en there does science soar With trembling pinion, bright and eager eye, Striving to reach the still-receding shore That bounds the vision high: Immortal longings fill the fettered mind; Unfathomed glory lies around it, veiled and shrined! Oh! when the brooding cloud Shall pass like mist from o'er our straining sight, And, as the sun-born insect, from its shroud The soul speed forth in might, From phase to phase in Being's endless day, Shall we behold thy light, and learn thy future way? THE VESPER CHIME. She dwelt within a convent wall Beside the "blue Moselle," And pure and simple was her life As is the tale I tell. She never shrank from penance rude, And was so young and fair, It was a holy, holy thing, To see her at her prayer. Her cheek was very thin and pale; You would have turned in fear, If 't were not for the hectic spot That glowed so soft and clear. And always, as the evening chime With measured cadence fell, Her vespers o'er, she sought alone A little garden dell. And when she came to us again, She moved with lighter air; We thought the angels ministered To her while kneeling there. One eve I followed on her way, And asked her of her life. A faint blush mantled cheek and brow, The sign of inward strife And when she spoke, the zephyrs caught The words so soft and clear, And told them over to the flowers That bloomed in beauty near. "I know not," thus she said to me, "If my young cheek is pale, But daily do I feel within This life of mine grow frail.