No! in the kingdom those spirits are reaching, For Pain has its Heaven and Pleasure its Hell! RICHARD, LORD HOUGHTON. THE HIDDEN SELF. KNOW not if a keener smart Can come to finer souls than his Who fain would say: "Behold me, friends, Sordid, not golden as I seem; "See here the hidden blot of shame, The weak thought that you take for strong, The brain too dull to merit fame, The faint and imitative song ;" But dares not, lest discovery foul Not his name only, but degrade Heights closed but to the soaring soul, Names which scorn trembles to invade ; K And doth his inner self conceal From all men in his own despite, Hiding what he would fain reveal, And a most innocent hypocrite. LEWIS MORRIS. GENIAL moment oft has given Yet count not, when thine end is won, When heaped upon the altar lie All things to feed the fire- But those sweet gums and fragrant woods, Its rich materials rare, By tedious quest o'er lands and floods Had first been gathered there. RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH. THE TOYS. Y little Son, who look'd from thoughtful eyes, wise, Having my law the seventh time disobey'd, I struck him, and dismiss'd With hard words and unkiss'd, His Mother, who was patient, being dead. Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, But found him slumbering deep, With darken'd eyelids, and their lashes yet From his late sobbing wet. And I, with moan, Kissing away his tears, left others of my own; For, on a table drawn beside his head, He had put, within his reach, A box of counters and a red-vein'd stone, A piece of glass abraded by the beach, |