That was a life to live for!

Not this weak, human life, With its frivolous, bloodless passions, Its poor and petty strife! Come to my arms, my hero,

The shadows of twilight grow, And the tiger's ancient fierceness In my veins begins to flow. Come not cringing to sue me!

Take me with triumph and power, As a warrior that storms a fortress! I will not shrink or cower.

Come, as you came in the desert, Ere we were women and men, When the tiger passions were in us,

And love as you loved me then.

THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.

HOOD.

[Condensed.]

'T was in the prime of summer time, An evening calm and cool,

And four-and-twenty happy boys

Came bounding out of school;

But the usher sat remote from all,
A melancholy man!

His hat was off, his vest apart,

To catch heaven's blessed breeze;

For a burning thought was in his brow,

And his bosom ill at ease;

So he leaned his head on his hands, and read

The book between his knees.

At last he shut the ponderous tome;
With a fast and fervent grasp
He strained the dusky covers close,

And fixed the brazen hasp:

"O God! could I so close my mind, And clasp it with a clasp!"

Then leaping on his feet upright,
Some moody turns he took,-

Now up the mead, then down the mead,

And past a shady nook,

And, lo! he saw a little boy

That pored upon a book.

"My gentle lad, what is't you read,

Romance or fairy fable?

Or is it some historic page

Of kings and crowns unstable?"

The young boy gave an upward glance,"It is "The Death of Abel.""

The usher took six hasty strides,
As smit with sudden pain,-

Six hasty strides beyond the place,
Then slowly back again;

And down he sat beside the lad,

And talked with him of Cain.

He told how murderers walked the earth

Beneath the curse of Cain,

With crimson clouds before their eyes,

And flames about their brain;

For blood has left upon their souls
Its everlasting stain!

"And well," quoth he, "I know for truth

Their pangs must be extreme

Woe, woe, unutterable woe!

Who spill life's sacred stream.

For why? Methought, last night I wrought A murder, in a dream!

"One that had never done me wrong,

A feeble man and old;

I led him to a lonely field,

The moon shone clear and cold:

Now here, said I, this man shall die,
And I will have his gold!

"Two sudden blows with a ragged stick,
And one with a heavy stone,

One hurried gash with a hasty knife, -
And then the deed was done;
There was nothing lying at my feet
But lifeless flesh and bone!

"And I took the dreary body up,

And cast it in a stream,

The sluggish water black as ink,
The depth was so extreme:
My gentle boy, remember, this

Is nothing but a dream!

"Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, And vanished in the pool;

Anon I cleansed my bloody hands,

And washed my forehead cool,

And sat among the urchins young,
That evening, in the school.