But the brethren only seem'd to speak:
Modest the sisters walk'd and meek,
And, if one of them ever chanced to say
What troubles she met with on the way,
How she long'd to pass to the other side,
Nor fear'd to cross over the swelling tide,
A voice arose from the brethren then :
"Let no one speak but the 'holy men';
For have ye not heard the words of Paul,
'O, let the women keep silence all'?"

I watch'd them long in my curious dream,
Till they stood by the borders of the stream:
Then, just as I thought, the two ways met;
But all the brethren were talking yet,
And would talk on till the heaving tide
Carried them over side by side, -
Side by side, for the way was one:
The toilsome journey of life was done;
And all who in Christ the Saviour died
Came out alike on the other side.

No forms or crosses or books had they;
No gowns of silk or suits of gray;
No creeds to guide them, or MSS.;
For all had put on Christ's righteousness.

EDWIN AND ANGELINA.
OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

"TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way,
To where yon taper cheers the vale
With hospitable ray :

For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow;
Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
Seem lengthening as I go."

"Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries,
"To tempt the dangerous gloom ;
For yonder faithless phantom flies
To lure thee to thy doom.

And now, when busy crowds retire
To take their evening rest,
The Hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his pensive guest;

And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily press'd and smiled;
And, skill'd in legendary lore,

The lingering hours beguiled.

Around in sympathetic mirth
Its tricks the kitten tries;
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,
The crackling faggot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart,
To soothe the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the Hermit spied,
With answering care opprest:
"And whence, unhappy youth," he cried,
"The sorrows of thy breast?

From better habitations spurn'd,
Reluctant dost thou rove?

Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
Or unregarded love?

Alas! the joys that fortune brings,

Are trifling and decay ;

And those who prize the paltry things,
More trifling still than they.

And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep;
A shade that follows wealth or fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep?

Each hour a mercenary crowd

With richest proffers strove; Amongst the rest young Edwin bow'd, But never talk'd of love.

In humblest, simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.

And when, beside me in the dale,
He caroll'd lays of love,

His breath lent fragrance to the gale,
And music to the grove.

The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of Heaven refined,
Could nought of purity display,
To emulate his mind.

The dew, the blossom on the tree,
With charms inconstant shine;
Their charms were his, but, woe to me!

Their constancy was mine.

For still I tried each fickle art,

Importunate and vain ;

And, while his passion touch'd my heart,

I triumph'd in his pain;

Till, quite dejected with my scorn,

He left me to my pride;

And sought a solitude forlorn,

In secret where he died.

But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay :

I'll seek the solitude he sought,

And stretch me where he lay.