LOST AND FOUND.

Some miners were sinking a shaft in Wales— (I know not where, but the facts have fill'd A chink in my brain, while other tales

Have been swept away, as when pearls are spill'd, One pearl rolls into a chink in the floor :)— Somewhere, then, where God's light is kill'd,

And men tear in the dark, at the earth's heart-core, These men were at work, when their axes knock'd

A hole in a passage closed years before.

A slip in the earth, I suppose, had block'd
This gallery suddenly up, with a heap
Of rubble, as safe as a chest is lock'd,

Till these men picked it; and 'gan to creep

In, on all-fours. Then a loud shout ran

Round the black roof,-" Here's a man asleep!"

They all push'd forward, and scarce a span
From the mouth of the passage, in sooth, the lamp

Fell on the upturn'd face of a man.

No taint of death, no decaying damp

Had touch'd that fair young brow, whereon
Courage had set its glorious stamp.

Calm as a monarch upon his throne,
Lips hard clench'd, no shadow of fear,—
He sat there taking his rest, alone.

He must have been there for many a year.
The spirit had fled; but there was its shrine,
In clothes of a century old, or near!

The dry and embalming air of the mine
Had arrested the natural hand of decay,
Nor faded the flesh, nor dimmed a line.

Who was he, then? No man could say
When the passage had suddenly fallen in—
Its memory, even, was past away!

In their great rough arms, begrimed with coal,
They took him up, as a tender lass
Will carry a babe, from that darksome hole,

To the outer world of the short warm grass.
Then up spoke one, "Let us send for Bess,
She is seventy-nine, come Martinmas :

Older than anyone here, I guess !

Belike, she may mind when the wall fell there, And remember the chap by his comeliness."

So they brought old Bess with her silver hair,
To the side of the hill, where the dead man lay,
Ere the flesh had crumbled in outer air.

And the crowd around him all gave way,
As with tottering steps old Bess drew nigh,
And bent o'er the face of the unchanged clay.

Then suddenly rang a sharp low cry! ...
Bess sank on her knees, and wildly toss'd
Her wither'd arms in the summer sky.

lost!

"O Willie! Willie! my
lad! my
The Lord be praised! after sixty years.
I see you again! . . . The tears you cost,

"O Willie, darlin', were bitter tears! . .
They never looked for ye underground,
They told me a tale to mock my fears!

"They said ye were auver the sea-ye'd found
A lass ye loved better nor me, to explain
How ye'd a-vanish'd fra' sight and sound!

"O darlin'! a long, long life o' pain

I ha' lived since then! . . And now I'm old,

'Seems a-most as if youth were come back again,

"Seeing ye there wi' yer locks o' gold, And limbs sa straight as ashen beams,

I a'most forget how the years ha' roll'd

"Between us! . . . O Willie! how strange it seems To see ye here, as I've seen ye oft, Auver and auver again in dreams!"

In broken words like these, with soft
Low wails she rock'd herself. And none
Of the rough men around her scoff'd.

For surely a sight like this, the sun
Had rarely looked upon. Face to face
The old dead love, and the living one!

The dead, with its undimm'd fleshly grace,
At the end of threescore years; the quick,
Pucker'd, and withered, without a trace
Of its warm girl-beauty! A wizard's trick
Bringing the youth and love that were
Back to the eyes of the old and sick!

Those bodies were just of one age; yet there
Death, clad in youth, had been standing still,
While Life had been fretting itself threadbare!

But the moment was come ;-(as a moment will,
To all who have loved, and have parted here,
And have toil'd alone up the thorny hill;

When, at the top, as their eyes see clear,
Over the mists in this vale below,
Mere specks their trials and toils appear,

Beside the Eternal rest they know!)

Death came to Old Bess that night, and gave
The welcome summons that she should go.

And now, though the rains and winds may rave,
Nothing can part them. Deep and wide,
The miners that evening dug one grave.

And there, while the summers and winters glide,
Old Bess and young Willie sleep side by side!

HAMILTON AIDÉ.

[By kind permission of the author.]

POOR JACK.

Ah, yes-poor Jack: I mind him once
His father's white-haired joy :
A grand old gentleman was he:
(Luff, Jack, lad: ship ahoy!)
But he is dead now-and poor Jack
Is only a sailor boy!

Gertrude Squire Marmion's only child:

Heaven! how Jack's heart would quake

At very mention of her name!

For her dear darling sake

He would have died-poor Jack-and glad,
To save her heart one ache!

Her face, like sunlight on the sea,
Made his waste life rejoice:
Like music on his rude, rough heart,
Fell her soft, gentle voice:

But she-ah, well, perhaps poor Jack
Was hardly a lady's choice!

Her hand, long since had been betrothed
To a knight of noble name:
And even now, to claim his bride,

With wealth and martial fame,

Son of Earl Eustace Evelyn,

The Lord Fitzharding came!

For long the distant war was done: "In one short month," wrote he, "I shall be home again, and love No more shall parted be!"

And now-even now-there stood a ship On the far horizon-sea.

Beside the village wharf she stood:

66

She watched the rising sail;

Sailor, what ship is that?" she cried:

Poor Jack-the fiercest gale

Had never scared his heart, but now
His very soul did fail.

He knew the ship: he turned: he raised
His mariner's glass to her eyes;
And held it silently, while she
Watched the ship rise and rise :
Like a ship of blood, it rose and rose
In the blood-red sunset skies!