Hand within hand, and side by side,
Two links of love, awhile untied
From the great chain above, but fast
Holding together to the last!-
Two fallen Splendors,* from that tree,
Which buds with such eternally,†
Shaken to earth, yet keeping all
Their light and freshness in the fall.

Their only punishment, (as wrong,
However sweet, must bear its brand,)

Their only doom was this

that, long

As the green earth and ocean stand,

They both shall wander here the same,

Throughout all time, in heart and frame

• An allusion to the Sephiroths or Splendors of the Jewish Cabbala, represented as a tree, of which God is the crown or summit.

The Sephiroths are the higher orders of emanative being in the strange and incomprehensible system of the Jewish Cabbala. They are called by various names, Pity, Beauty, etc. etc.; and their influences are supposed to act through certain canals, which communicate with each other.

†The reader may judge of the rationality of this Jewish system by the following explanation of part of the machinery: "Les canaux qui sortent de la Miséricorde et de la Force, et qui vont aboutir à la Beauté, sont chargés d'un grand nombre d'Anges. Il y en a trente-cinq sur le canal de la Miséricorde, ui recompensent et qui couronnent la vertu des Saints," etc. etc. - For a concise account of the Cabalistic Philosophy, see Enfield's very useful compendium of Brucker.

"On les représente quelquefois sous la figure d'un arbre... 'Ensoph qu'on met au-dessus de l'arbre Sephirotique ou des Splendeurs divins, est l'Infini."—L'Histoire des Juifs, liv. ix. 11.

Still looking to that goal sublime,

Whose light remote, but sure, they see;
Pilgrims of Love, whose way is Time,
Whose home is in Eternity!
Subject, the while, to all the strife,
True Love encounters in this life
The wishes, hopes, he breathes in vain;
The chill, that turns his warmest sighs
To earthly vapour, ere they rise;
The doubt he feeds on, and the pain
That in his very sweetness lies:
Still worse, the' illusions that betray
His footsteps to their shining brink;
That tempt him, on his desert way

Through the bleak world, to bend and drink
Where nothing meets his lips, alas, —
But he again must sighing pass
On to that far-off home of peace,
In which alone his thirst will cease.

All this they bear, but, not the less,
Have moments rich in happiness—
Blest meetings, after many a day
Of widowhood past far away,
When the lov'd face again is seen
Close, close, with not a tear between
Confidings frank, without control,
Pour'd mutually from soul to soul;
As free from any fear or doubt

As is that light from chill or stain,

The sun into the stars sheds out,

To be by them shed back again! That happy minglement of hearts,

Where, chang'd as chymic compounds are, Each with its own existence parts, To find a new one, happier far! Such are their joys and, crowning all, That blessed hope of the bright hour, When, happy and no more to fall,

Their spirits shall, with freshen'd power, Rise up rewarded for their trust

In Him, from whom all goodness springs, And, shaking off earth's soiling dust From their emancipated wings, Wander for ever through those skies Of radiance, where Love never dies!

In what lone region of the earth

These Pilgrims now may roam or dwell, God and the Angels, who look forth To watch their steps, alone can tell. But should we, in our wanderings,

Meet a young pair, whose beauty wants But the adornment of bright wings,

To look like heaven's inhabitants Who shine where'er they tread, and yet Are humble in their earthly lot,

As is the way-side violet,

That shines unseen, and were it not

For its sweet breath would be forgot

Whose hearts, in every thought, are one,

Whose voices utter the same wills
Answering, as Echo doth some tone
Of fairy music 'mong the hills,
So like itself, we seek in vain
Which is the echo, which the strain

Whose piety is love, whose love,

Though close as 't were their souls' embrace,

Is not of earth, but from above

Like two fair mirrors, face to face,

Whose light, from one to the' other thrown,
Is heaven's reflection, not their own
Should we e'er meet with aught so pure,
So perfect here, we may be sure

'Tis ZARAPH and his bride we see; And call young lovers round, to view The pilgrim pair, as they pursue

Their pathway tow'rds eternity.

INDEX OF FIRST LINES.

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