WHAT THE CHIMNEY SANG.

Over the chimney the night-wind sang

And chanted a melody no one knew ;

And the Woman stopped, as her babe she tossed,
And thought of the one she had long since lost,
And said, as her tear-drops back she forced,
"I hate the wind in the chimney."

Over the chimney the night-wind sang

And chanted a melody no one knew;

And the Children said, as they closer drew,

""Tis some witch that is cleaving the black night through,—

'Tis a fairy trumpet that just then blew,

And we fear the wind in the chimney."

Over the chimney the night-wind sang

And chanted a melody no one knew ;
And the Man, as he sat on his hearth below,
Said to himself, "It will surely snow,

And fuel is dear and wages low,

And I'll stop the leak in the chimney."

Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;

But the Poet listened and smiled, for he
Was Man, and Woman, and Child, all three,

And said, "It is God's own harmony,

This wind we hear in the chimney."

J. W. Higginsom

DECORATION.

"MANIBUS DATE LILIA PLENIS."

Mid the flower-wreathed tombs I stand
Bearing lilies in my hand.

Comrades! in what soldier-grave
Sleeps the bravest of the brave?

Is it he who sank to rest

With his colors round his breast?
Friendship makes his tomb a shrine;
Garlands veil it; ask not mine.

One low grave, yon trees beneath,
Bears no roses, wears no wreath :
Yet no heart more high and warm
Ever dared the battle-storm;

Never gleamed a prouder eye

In the front of victory,

Never foot had firmer tread

On the field where hope lay dead,

Than are hid within this tomb,

Where the untended grasses bloom;

And no stone, with feign'd distress,
Mocks the sacred loneliness.

Youth and beauty, dauntless will,
Dreams that life could ne'er fulfill,
Here lie buried; here in peace

Wrongs and woes have found release.

Turning from my comrades' eyes,
Kneeling where a woman lies,

I strew lilies on the grave

Of the bravest of the brave.

Oliver Wondell Holmes.

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.

This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,
Sails the unshadowed main,—

The venturous bark that flings

On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings
In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,

And coral reefs lie bare,

Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;

Wrecked is the ship of pearl!

And every chambered cell,

Wherein its dreaming life was wont to dwell,
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,
Before thee lies revealed,-

Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!

Year after year beheld the silent toil

That spread his lustrous coil;

Still, as the spiral grew,

He left the past year's dwelling for the new,

Stole with soft step its shining archway through,

Built up its idle door,

Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,

Child of the wandering sea,

Cast from her lap, forlorn!

From thy dead lips a clearer note is born

Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!

While on mine ear it rings,

Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,

As the swift seasons roll!

Leave thy low-vaulted past!

Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,
Till thou at length art free,

Leaving thine out-grown shell by life's unresting sea!

THE LAST LEAF.

I saw him once before,

As he passed by the door,
And again

The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.

They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,

Not a better man was found

By the Crier on his round
Through the town.

But now he walks the streets,

And he looks at all he meets

Sad and wan,

And he shakes his feeble head,

That it seems as if he said,

"They are gone."