POETRY.

BROTHER OR STRANGER ?

" He, nor that affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence."

--SHAKESPEARE.

BROTHER or stranger, active friend or foe ?

I do not know : perhaps shall never know.

I rule o'er him, and yet he rules o'er me.

I am his bondman. Yet he's slave to me.

I have not seen his face, and he is blind.

He's fierce when I am humble. When he's kind I most despise him, flout him—almost hate, And still I see in him the hand of fate.

He frames my future, as he is my past, And I in him behold the first and last.

But kind he can be, and keeps close at hand—

Save when I want him most ; then he will stand Dark, secret, dumb, and turn the deafest ears To all my calls to help me still my fears.

When night has come he'll to my bedside steal, And sit beside me. He can make me feel His presence, though I'm almost drowned in sleep :

And here he,shows his best, for he can keep

My memories bright by reading from old notes Of things forgot, yet things on which he dotes As precious gems. Often he me persuades To follow him in spirit through the shades Of long dead sorrows and of foolish joys As little worth as children's broken toys.

For he himself is childish—brave in speech, Though fearful of all ills within his reach.

And yet I love him, in that he supplies So much that brings lost pictures to my eyes.

If I refrain from frightening him away By too much asking, he will turn to play Old games and tell old tales in such strange guise, I laugh aloud in wonder and surprise.

Not till the dreaded and yet glorious hour Of dissolution shall I prove his power.

Then we must part, and for a moment's space (Oh, moment awful !) I shall see his face.

Will it be mine, and shall I fade away A helpless shadow at the dawn of day ?

Oh no 'tis he, 'Us he will cease to be, And I from my false self at last break free.

J. ST. LOE STRACHEY.