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 THE LADY’S BOOK.

SPIRIT SONGS

FIRST SPIRIT.

From the beautiful rivers of Heaven I come, Where the sunshine is sleeping on billow and spray; From the murmuring founts, where I have my home, I have wandered to listen to thy lovely lay. Oh, bright are the streams round thy bower of rest, That whisper their songs to the wings of the sea ; But, oh! if there be a bright star in the west, Or a harp of rich music, ’tis thee.

Oh, how lovely and sweet are the whispers that roll In sunshine and music from every string, Like the faint hymns that wander ‘round every soul, While it waits o’er the wave for the morning’s wing; And oh, if there be an elysium of light, If there be in the heavens a world more fair, Where no shadows come down o’er the beautiful night, And no mists on the morning, ’tis there.

SECOND SPIRIT.

I have come, I have come from my pearly dome, Where the beautiful sea-maid has kept her home, Where the sea-snake rolls on with the emerald wave, Where the shadows of beauty lie down in the grave; With no dreams to break over their beautiful sleep, Where they rest in the tomb of the darkening deep.

From my beautiful hall in the ocean shell, I have come at the sound of thy guiding spell, Led on by the dolphin’s dying light, That shone like a star o’er the billowy night ; Thence have I come through the earth and the air, Through the shadows that darken the day-light fair.

Oh! whither, oh! where must my pale wings flee? Must I pass yet again o’er the shadowy sea, Or wait, through the blackening hours of the night, Till the morning comes up with her wings of light, Like an altar-flame o’er the sea-waves’ spray ? Thou spirit of darkness and slumber, say.

THIRD SPIRIT.

I heard the voice of thy wild lyre’s sigh,

And the whisper that stole from thy minstrelsy ;

I was closing my wings in a vale afar,

That lay in the light of a vesper star,

I heard thy song in my lonely bower,

And I rose from the couch of each beautiful flower, Where I had been sleeping, And a pale watch keeping,

Till the first star was set in the heaven that hour.

I spread forth my wings, and I passed away

Through the darkness spread over the dream of day;

I saw the soul of each dream pass on

As they fell like the stars from the horizon,

® Toslumber and watch o’er each couch of sleep ;

Through the holy hour of midnight deep,
 * They will shadow a light

Like a starbeam of night,

And o’er each eyelid’s close a holy watch they'll keep.

HYMN OF THE CALABRIAN SHEPHERDS.

BY L. E. L.

A peasant group, whose lips are full of prayer, And hearts of home affections, such as flow So naturally in piety.

Darker and darker fall around The shadows from the pine, It is the hour with hymn and prayer To gather round thy shrine.

Hear us, sweet Mother! thou hast known Our earthly hopes and fears, The bitterness of mortal toil, The tenderness of tears.

We pray thee, first, for absent ones, Those who knelt with us here— The father, brother, and the son, The distant, and the dear.

We pray thee for the little bark Upon the stormy sea ; Affection’s anxiousness of love, Is it not known to thee?

The soldier, he who only sleeps His head upon his brand, Who only in a dream can see His own beloved land.

The wandering minstrel, he who gave Thy hymns his earliest tone, Who strives to teach a foreign tongue The music of his own.

Kind Mother, let them see again Their own Italian shore ; Back to the home which, wanting them, Seems like a home no more.

Madonna, keep the cold north wind Amid his native seas, So that no withering blight come down Upon our olive trees.

And bid the sunshine glad our hills, The dew rejoice our vines, And bid the healthful sea-breeze sweep In music through the pines.

Pray for us, that our hearts and homes Be kept in fear and love ; Love for all things around our path, And fear for those above.

Thy soft blue eyes are filled with tears, Oh! let them wash away The soil of our unworthiness— Pray for us, Mother, pray!

We know how vain the fleeting flowers, Around thine altar hung ; We know how humble is the hymn Before thine image sung.

But wilt thou not accept the wreath, And sanctify the lay; We trust to thee, our hopes and fears— Pray for us, Mother, pray!