Tor-Mohun.
P.S.--Are the following lines, which contain this idea, and were copied
long ago from the poet's corner of a provincial paper, with the title of
"The Language of the Stars, a fragment," worth preserving?
"The stars bear tidings, voiceless though they are:
'Mid the calm loveliness of the evening air,
As one by one they open clear and high,
And win the wondering gaze of infancy,
They speak,--yet utter not. Fair heavenly flowers
Strewn on the floor-way of the angels' bowers!
'Twas HIS own hand that twined your chaplets bright,
And thoughts of love are in your wreaths of light,
Unread, unreadable by us;--there lie
High meanings in your mystic tracery;
Silent rebukings of day's garish dreams,
And warnings solemn as your own fair beams."
* * * * *