A TRYST.

By CSLIA THAATIR.

From out the desolation of the North An iceberg took its way,

From its detaining comrades breaking forth, And travelling night and day.

At whose command? Who bade it sail the deep With that resistless force P

Who made the dread appointment it must keep ? Who traced its awful course ?

To tho warns airs that stir in the sweet South, A good ship spread her sails ; Stately she passed beyond the harbour's mouth Chased by the favouring gales ; And on her ample decks a happy crowd Bade the fair land good-bye ; Clear shone the day with not a single cloud In all the peaceful sky.

Storms buffeted the iceberg, spray was swept Across its loftiest height ;

Guided alike by storm and calm, it kept Its fatal path aright.

Ever Death rode upon its solemn heights, Ever his watch he kept ; Cold at its heart through changing days and nights Its changeless purpose slept.

And where afar a smiling coast it passed. Straightway the air grew chill ;

Dwellers thereon perceived a bitter blast, A vague report of ill.

Like some imperial creature, moving slow, Meanwhile, with matchless grace, The stately ship, unconscious of her foe, Drew near the trysting-place.

There came a night with neither moon nor star, Clouds draped the sky in black ;

With fluttering canvas reefed at every spar, And weird fire in her track,

The ship swept on; a wild wind gathering fast Drove her at utmost speed,

Bravely she bent before the fitful blast That shook her like a reed.

0 helmsman, turn thy wheel l Will no surmise

Cleave through the midnight drear No warning of the horrible surprise Reach thine unconscious oar ?

She rushed upon her ruin. Not a flash Broke up the waiting dark; Dully through wind and sea one awful crash Sounded, with none to mark.

Scarcely her crew had time to clutch despair,

So swift the work was done: Ere their pale lies could frame a speechless prayer, They perished, every mull