THE POET'S OFFICE.

WHEN heartache, restlessness, and discontent

Afflict my spirit, and I late return

To take my wonted sleep, yet can I not

Pillow my weary head till I have heard

The musical heart-strings of some master poet

Vibrate in trembling unison with mine own.

More loved than sage or statesman must he be

Who leaves his tender melodies behind

To teach a joy and sorrow more divine

Than what we daily feel, - whose sympathy

Doth warm the very marrow of our bones

What time we gaze in doubting and mistrust

Into the mysteries of life and death.

W. P. E.