smoke. There is a rush and roar, as of a river through the air, and muddy streams bubble majestically along the pavement, whirl their dusky foam into the kennel, and disappear beneath iron grates. Thus did Arethusa sink. I love not my station here aloft, in the midst of the tumult which I am powerless to direct or quell, with the blue lightning wrinkling on my brow, and the thunder muttering its first awful syllables in my ear. I will descend. Yet let me give another glance to the sea, where the foam breaks in long white lines upon a broad expanse of blackness, or boils up in far distant points, like snowy-mountain-tops in the eddies of a flood; and let me look once more at the green plain, and little hills of the country, over which the giant of the storm is riding in robes of mist, and at the town, whose obscured and desolate streets might beseem a city of the dead; and turning a single moment to the sky, now gloomy as an author's prospects, I prepare to resume my station on lower earth. But stay! A little speck of azure has widened in the western heavens; the sunbeams find a passage, and go rejoicing through the tempest; and on yonder darkest cloud, born, like hallowed hopes, of the glory of another world, and the trouble and tears of this, brightens forth the Rainbow!

WHEN SPARROWS BUILD.

JEAN INGELOW.

HEN sparrows build, and the leaves
break forth,

My old sorrow wakes and cries.

For I know there is dawn in the far,

far north,

And a scarlet sun doth rise;

Like a scarlet fleece the snow-field spreads,
And the icy fount runs free;

And the bergs begin to bow their heads,
And plunge and sail in the sea.

O, my lost love, and my own, own love,
And my love that loved me so!

Is there never a chink in the world above

Where they listen for words from below?
Nay, I spoke once, and I grieved thee sore;
I remembered all that I said;

And now thou wilt hear me no more-no more
Till the sea gives up her dead.

Thou didst set thy foot on the ship, and sail
To the ice-fields and the snow;

We lay low in the grass on the broad plain As a hurricane comes, crushing palms in his

Rode we on, rode we three, rode we gray Came the flash of his eyes like a half-hidden

Reaching long, breathing loud, like a creviced While his keen crooked horns through the

I stood in my stirrup and looked to my right, Did subside and recede, and the nerves fell as But Revels was gone; I glanced by my

shoulder

And saw his horse stagger; I saw his head drooping

Hard on his breast, and his naked breast stooping

Low down to the mane as so swifter and bolder

dead.

Then she saw that my own steed still lorded

his head

With a look of delight, for this Paché, you see,
Was her father's, and once at the South
Santafee

Had won a whole herd, sweeping everything
down

In a race where the world came to run for the crown;

Ran reaching out for us the red-footed fire.
To right and to left the black buffalo came,
In miles and in millions, rolling on in despair, And so when I won the true heart of my
With their beards to the dust and black tails

in the air.

As a terrible surf on a red sea of flame
Rushing on in the rear, reaching high, reach-

ing higher,

And he rode neck to neck to a buffalo bull,
The monarch of millions, with shaggy mane
full

Of smoke and of dust, and it shook with desire
Of battle, with rage and with bellowings loud
And unearthly and up through its lowering

cloud

bride,