'A kind of--I can't tell-- A sort of orchard place in a long dell, With trees all over flowers. And there were birds Who could do talking, say soft pretty words; They let me stroke them, and I showed it all To Jasmine. And I heard a blue dove call, "Child, this is heaven." I was not frightened when It spoke, I said "Where are the angels then?"' 'Well.' 'So it said, "Look up and you shall see." There were two angels sitting in the tree, As tall as mother; they had long gold hair. They let drop down the fruit they gather'd there And little angels came for it--so sweet. Here they were beggar children in the street, And the dove said they had the prettiest things, And wore their best frocks every day.' 'And wings, Had they no wings?' 'O yes, and lined with white Like swallow wings, so soft--so very light Fluttering about.' 'Well.' 'Well, I did not stay, So that was all.' 'They made you go away?' 'I did not go--but--I was gone.' 'I know.' 'But it's a pity, Bob, we never go Together.' 'Yes, and have no dreams to tell, But the next day both know it all quite well.' 'And, Bob, if I could dream you came with me You would be there perhaps.' 'Perhaps--we'll see.' THE AUSTRALIAN BELL-BIRD. Toll-- Toll.' 'The bell-bird sounding far away, Hid in a myall grove.' He raised his head, The bush glowed scarlet in descending day, A masterless wild country--and he said, My father ('Toll.') 'Full oft by her to stray, As if a spirit called, have I been led; Oft seems she as an echo in my soul ('Toll.') from my native towers by Avon ('Toll'). ('Toll.') Oft as in a dream I see full fain The bell-tower beautiful that I love well, A seemly cluster with her churches twain. I hear adown the river faint and swell And lift upon the air that sound again, It is, it is--how sweet no tongue can tell, For all the world-wide breadth of shining foam, The bells of Evesham chiming "Home, sweet home." The mind hath mastery thus--it can defy The sense, and make all one as it DID HEAR-- Nay, I mean more; the wraiths of sound gone by Rise; they are present 'neath this dome all clear. ONE, sounds the bird--a pause--then doth supply Some ghost of chimes the void expectant ear; Do they ring bells in heaven? The learnedest soul Shall not resolve me such a question. ('Toll.') ('Toll.') Say I am a boy, and fishing stand By Avon ('Toll.') on line and rod intent, How glitters deep in dew the meadow land-- What, dost thou flit, thy ministry all spent, Not many days we hail such visits bland, Why steal so soon the rare enravishment? Ay gone! the soft deceptive echoes roll Away, and faint into remoteness.' ('Toll.')