Fugitive Poetry

ore--save when the "fever of the world"
Falleth upon her, she will go, sometimes,
Out in the starlight quietness, and breathe
A holy aspiration after heaven!

SKETCH OF A SCHOOLFELLOW.

He sat by me in school. His face is now
Vividly in my mind, as if he went
From me but yesterday--its pleasant smile
And the rich, joyous laughter of his eye,
And the free play of his unhaughty lip,
So redolent of his heart! He was not fair,
Nor singular, nor over-fond of books,
And never melancholy when alone.
He was the heartiest in the ring, the last
Home from the summer's wanderings, and the first
Over the threshold when the school was done.
All of us loved him. We shall speak his name
In the far years to come, and think of him
When we have lost life's simplest passages,
And pray for him--forgetting he is dead--
Life was in him so passing beautiful!

His childhood had been wasted in the close
And airless city. He h