Again into his arms, and with a flood Of tears she could not bridle, sobbed a prayer That he would tell her of his wretchedness. He told her, and a momentary flush Shot o’er her countenance; and then the soul Of Jephthah’s daughter wakened, and she stood Calmly and nobly up, and said ‘’Tis well-- And I will die!’ The sun had well nigh set. The fire was on the altar, and the priest Of the High God was there. A wasted man Was stretching out his withered hands to heaven, As if he would have prayed, but had no words; And she who was to die--the calmest one In Israel at that hour--stood up alone And waited for the sun to set. Her face Was pale, but very beautiful; her lip Had a more delicate outline, and the tint Was deeper; but her countenance was like The majesty of angels!--The sun set, And she was dead, but not by violence. IDLENESS. It was a leisure day, and I had shut My door upon intrusion, and set down With a true book to read. My study fire Made music to my ear; the placid brow Of my Madonna, and the shadowy tints Of an old Flemish picture that I keep, Might pass for company; and for relief To weary eyes, a sweet geranium stood In the half shuttered window, breathing out Its odors with the pleasant smell of books; And a soft landscape, given me by one Who has a noble nature, hung in light, Serving me as a ground for poetry. I read a tale of Séville. It was when Darkness was over Spain, and Christian hearts Were standing out for truth, undauntedly. The daily light brought martyrdom, and men Of a pure life went faithfully to die, For the rich hope hereafter. There was set A scaffold on the ‘golden Guadalquivir;’ And in the greenest valley of the land, With its bright shore and water tempting them Like an affection, did they meekly die. Nobles as just men perished, where their sires Held the chivalric tournament; and one Whose ancestors had been Castilia’s kings, Died calmly. He had loved to come alone And watch that stealing river, and ’tis told That when the axe fell frequently, he went Ever at evening there, that he might look Upon its bloody evidence, and nerve His spirit to the trial. ’Tis a tale Of high and manly fortitude, and one To elevate the nobler nature. I Have told it to defend my idle time, And prove that a companionship with books Betters the spirit, and that gliding back Upon these by-past histories reveals Perfect example, and may teach sometimes, How noble and how beautiful appears The finer temper of humanity. DREAMS.