sable, not daily bread, but the bread of life. Is not he, too, in his duty; endeavoring towards inward harmony; revealing this by act or by word, through all his outward endeavors, be they high or low. Highest of all, when his outward and his inward endeavors are one; when we can name him artist; not earthly craftsman only, but inspired thinker, who with heaven-made implement conquers heaven for us!-CARLYLE.

Pursuit of the Ideal.

Who is she that looketh forth as the morning,

Fair as the moon,

Clear as the sun,

And terrible as an army with banners?

-SONG OF SOLOMON, IV. 10.

NE who holds my heart forever,
And I bless her night and day:
Night and day where'er I wander,
She is ever on my way.

Tender maiden, watchful maiden,
Friend to me she is alway,
And with countenance angelic

All my baser thoughts doth fray.

Now she chides me and she guides me, If by chance I go astray:

Then she scorns me and she warns me, If to rest my head I lay.

Purer than the virgin dew-drops,
And more beautiful than they,
Clothed she is in lily-meekness
And a youth forever May.

Who would not rejoice to woo her,
Who is clad in such array?
Who would not rejoice to win her,
Who may never know decay?

Fairer maiden, rarer maiden,
Poet never may portray;
Purer maiden, truer maiden,
Never dwelt in mortal clay.

And such charms she always weareth, And so modest to display!

Oh my airy, fairy maiden

Over me hath perfect sway!

Should King Oberon, the Fairy,
Haply from his kingdom stray,
And be questioned if he love her,
He could never answer nay;

Such his eager heart to woo her,
And her to his realm convey,

Where her beauty would enthrone her Queen of every elf and fay.

Oh, her smile to me is better
Than the sparkle of Tokay,
And the sweetness of her silence
Than all harems of Cathay.

But, ah me! she e'er so coy is-
And I always hate delay-
Oft my heart grows dark within me,
Void of hope's celestial ray.

For when I would fain embrace her,
Blushingly she flits away,

Darting, glancing like a sunbeam,
As if mocking my dismay;

Leaving me, and then returning,
Like the sunlight in the spray;
And my soul is half distracted
With such Tantalus-survey.

Why will not the cruel maiden

Once my beauty-thirst allay? Doth she stoop at last to vengeance, Dooming me a castaway?

Airy maiden, fairy maiden,

Do not keep me thus at bay;

Linger yet a little, maiden;

Maiden, yet a little stay.

Ah, she will not deign to listen,
Though I sue and I inveigh;
Ah, she will not deign to listen
Doth she, then, my love repay?

If I ask her if she love me,
Blushing, she will nothing say,
Nothing answer to convince me,
Nothing, neither nay or yea.

But retreating, softly fleeting,
Like a rainbow, heavenly gay,
She doth call me, she doth call me,
And I cannot but obey.

And as bold and eager-hearted
As a school-boy, who at play
Bright-hued butterflies in chasing
O'er the fragrant, new-mown hay,

Vexed, successless, yet determined
On the capture of his prey,
Which allures him and eludes him,
Follow softly as he may;

I pursue my airy maiden

From the morning twilight grey, Till the mists of evening gather, And no conquest doth defray

All my yearnings and my heart-beats, For she every art doth slay.

Yet with new and light endeavor,
To allure her I essay,

Purposing no base inaction

And no sluggard's welaway,
Till I touch the happy altar,

Crowned on with the fadeless bay.

And I think my heart grows better,
And I count not what I pay
For the airy chase and earthly,
Where she seemeth to betray;

For I feel if here I never
Win my maiden, as I pray,
I shall in yon sphere eternal
Prosper in her love for aye;

Where the splendor of the virgin
Satisfies the heart straightway,
And all work is but the rhythm
Of a blessed holiday,

But the worship and the freedom

Of a blessed holy-day;

And the rhyme that never changes,
Fringes the Celestial Lay.

Too late did I love Thee, O Fairness, so ancient and yet so new! Too late did I love Thee! For behold, Thou wert within, and I without, and there did I seek Thee; I, unlovely, rushed heedlessly