*And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who has the

weetest voice of all God's creatures.-KORAN.

But the skies that angel trod,

Where deep thoughts are a dutyWhere Love's a grown up God

Where the Houri glances are Imbued with all the beauty

Which we worship in a star

Therefore, thou art not wrong,
Israfeli, who despisest

An unimpassioned song;

To thee the laurels belong,

Best bard, because the wisest !

Merrily live, and long!

The ecstasies above

With thy burning measures suit— Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, With the fervour of thy luteWell may the stars be mute!

Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
Is a world of sweets and sours;
Our flowers are merely-flowers,
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss
Is the sunshine of ours.

If I could dwell

Where Israfel

Hath dwelt, and he where I,

He might not sing so wildly well

A mortal melody,

While a bolder note than this might swell

From my lyre within the sky.

FOR ANNIE.

THANK Heaven! the crisis-
The danger is past,
And the lingering illness

Is over at last

And the fever called "Living"

Is conquered at last.

Sadly, I know

I am shorn of my strength, And no muscle I move

As I lie at full length-
But no matter!-I feel
I am better at length.

And I rest so composed.
Now, in my bed,
That any beholder

Might fancy me dead

Might start at beholding me,

Thinking me dead.

The moaning and groaning,

The sighing and sobbing,

Are quieted now,

With that horrible throbbing At heart-ah, that horrible, Horrible throbbing!

For now, while so quietly
Lying, it fancies
A holier odor

About it, of pansies-
A rosemary odor,

Commingled with pansiesWith rue and the beautiful Puritan pansies.

And so it lies happily,

Bathing in many

A dream of the truth

And the beauty of AnnieDrowned in a bath

Of the tresses of Annie.

She tenderly kissed me,

She fendly caressed, And then I fell gently

To sleep on her breast

Deeply to sleep

From the heaven of her breast.

When the light was extinguished,

She covered me warm,
And she prayed to the angels.
To keep me from harm―
To the queen of the angels
To shield me from harm.

And I lie so composedly,
Now, in my bed,
(Knowing her love)

That you fancy me dead-
And I rest so contentedly,

Now in my bed,

(With her love at my breast)

That you fancy me dead