POETRY.
SONNETS.
I.
Au, yes ! we have a mind within a mind,—
Which keeps its counsel to itself, and deems The issue only ours. Thus do we find A lost self waiting 'mid the broken gleams Of knowledge, on whose steps we dare take hold
In hallowed moments only, while we stand— The younger mind in presence of the old—
Listening to that strange argument's command, Which levels all things in its fearless course.
So, sometimes, will an intuition deal With abstruse thought, with instant, lightning force,.
Outdoing, as it were, the work of years ;- Wondering withinburselves, we seem to feel The growth of energies our own soul fears.
IL
Pale, subtle memories still haunt the soul, When her bright day is dead and her moonshine Comes, with a tender calm ; like wind-tossed scroll, Whose half-known words are half guessed; whose design: She vainly grasps, for but in hints it comes.
Yet to the memory will the mind conform As if it met with such in mystic tomes, To all but sleepers closed, and half forgot The moment day's dear influences warm To wakefulness and life. 0 weird and deep, Beyond our knowing, art thou, soul ! yet oft
We live with thee, as though we feared thee not,—
Forgetful of what times we feel the soft, Uncertain signs of secrets which you keep. J. H..
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