From the souls of our sires who for liberty bled, When Freedom inspired and Washington led.

Shall liberty die on the hills of Tremont,

Where Warren's warm blood was its baptismal font?

Shall the cradle of Freedom be also her grave, And the shadow of Bunker Hill rest on a slave?

There's a conflict of laws, and slave-minions combine

With the statutes of sin to oppose the Divine, And the thunders of Sinai again should be hurled Giving death to oppression and law to the world.

There's a time when allegiance ceases to bind, And a higher than human law guides the free mind, 'Tis when might murders right and the government's nod,

Demands of our hearts what is treason to God.

Then rebellion is duty; we welcome its dawn, Though our blood wash in hope-drowning rivers the sod,

We will welcome the gleaming of every sword drawn

That can strike for the right, for truth, freedom and God.

If its influence bless, what are struggles and scars?
The love-light of Venus can sanctify Mars,
And a soul-night, unclouded by sin, is sublime.

Then be true to the dream in which young Hope began,

And have faith in the ultimate triumph of Truth; Trust in God, but not blindly, to perfect your plan, While you trust like a child, you must strike like

a man,

And live up to the destiny-dream of thy youth.

THE PEERLESS PATTI.

THERE have been forms of splendor, which the shroud

Of time shall never veil from memory's sight; There have been souls of more than mortal might, But never did a form so fair and proud

Contain a gem-like soul more purely bright; Thou seem'st a guardian seraph, strong but kind, While floats thy wondrous voice, in rapture free, Wafting, on wings of song, the hearer's mind Up to the heavens where all is melody:Genius and beauty, only once combined, Have owned their heiress and their child in thee.

THE

R. T. W. DUKE, JR.

HE Old Dominion is famous for its younger literary workers. Among this literary band, R. T. W. Duke, Jr., of Charlottsville, is favorably known. He is a member of the law firm of Duke and Duke. He comes from an old Virginia family, and is thirtysix years of age. He was educated at the University of Virginia, receiving the medal as the best essayist of the class of 1873-74. He has been practicing law with his father and brother for fifteen years, and is now Judge of the Corporation Court of the city of Charlottsville. He has written a great deal, but published very little, and whilst devoted to letters, has but little time to give to them. The Century, Lippincott's, and other magazines and newspapers have published poems by him.

Mr. Duke is married, and has three children.

ET IN ARCADIA EGO.

H. A. T.

BECAUSE I Choose to keep my seat, Nor join the giddy dancers' whirl, I pray you do not laugh, my girl, Nor ask me why I find it sweet,

In my old age to watch your glee— I too have been in Arcady.

And though full well I know I seem

Quite out of place in scenes like this, You can't imagine how much bliss, It gives me just to sit and dream As your fair form goes flitting by, How I too dwelt in Arcady.

For, sweetheart, in your merry eyes,
A vanished summer buds and blows,
And with the same bright cheeks of rose,

I see your mother's image rise,

And o'er a long and weary track,
My buried boyhood wanders back.

And as with tear-dimmed eyes I cast
On your fair form my swimming glance;
I think your mother used to dance
Just as you do, in that dead past,
Long years ago-yes, fifty-three,
When I too dwelt in Arcady.

And in the music's laughing notes
I seem to hear old voices ring,
That have been hushed, ah, many a spring:

And round about me faintly floats The echo of a melody,

I used to hear in Arcady.

And yonder youth; nay, do not blush,
The boy 's his father o'er again;
And hark ye, Miss, I was not plain,
When at his age: "What, must I hush?
He's coming this way:
"Yes, I see,
You two yet dwell in Arcady.

And worlds on worlds; lo! in a daisy's cup,
A tiny dew-drop did reflect the whole.
And all the azure sky and countless spheres
That gleam in Heaven through the varied years
Lay in this little globule. Oh! my soul,
Thou mote in nature, is not this to thee

An emblem of thyself? Ere thou hast passed
Beyond Time's threshold and God's purpose vast
Breaks on thy sight, yet canst thou clearly see
The one great goal man may attain at last,
And mirror in thyself eternity.

BESIDE LOVE'S BIER.

MEN came and wondered when he died, And stood with wet eyes by his bier: "We never dreamed," some wildly cried, "That Love could die, he was so dear." Some only looked awhile and sighed,

Then went their way, they had no tear. One moaned, "I've wandered far and near And sought for Love, and would have died For his sweet sake- I find him here."

Another kissed his cold white brow. "Farewell!" he cried, "thou wilt not move, Eternal slumber holds thee now, No resurrection comes for Love." But one who stood apart a pace, Drew near him gently, "Love," said he, "He never truly knew thy face, Who saw thee dead, nor died with thee."

LOST HOURS.

THEIR advent is as silent as their going,
They have no voice nor utter any speech,
No whispered murmur passes each to each,
As on the bosom of the year's stream flowing,
They pass beyond recall, beyond our knowing,
Farther than sight can pierce or thought can

reach,

Nor shall we ever hear them on Time's beach, No matter how the winds of life are blowing.

They bide their time, they wait the awful warning Of that dread day, when hearts and graves un

sealing,

The trumpet's note shall call the sea and sod, To yield their secrets to the sun's revealing. What voices then shall thrill the Judgment morning As our lost hours shall cry aloud to God?

TOO LATE YOU CAME.

TOO LATE you came; my days have sped,
These many years through sun and shade;
Once I had hailed your coming, Love,
But now my cold heart does not move,
And though your soft eyes are a-flame,
Too late you came.

Go seek some other soul's distress,
I've grown too old for wantonness,
And learned what false, vain folly lies
In flattering lips and laughing eyes.
Go, Love! Your arrows miss their aim!
Too late you came.

THE SOUL'S REFLECTION.

ONCE in the night time I was looking up,

And saw the stars slow circling round the pole,— Orbs that through endless epicycles roll,

M. B. M.

Manibus date lilia plenis.

PEACE! Peace! No tears nor shadow of regret,
No cypress here nor any sprig of rue:
Bring roses dripping with the morning dew,
And lilies with the earliest rain-drops wet:
Bring purple pansies and the violet,

And all the sweetest flowers that ever grew
Save those suggesting sorrow; we would strew
Only bright buds above thee and forget
Our sorrow in thy joy, sweet sister; tears

Are not for thee: ours is alone the pain,

The doubt, the darkness, and the care-racked brain;

Thou hast escaped the weariness of years,

And we weep not that death th' immortal birth, Gives back to Heaven the angel lent to earth.