POETRY.
A CHARACTER—AND A QUESTION. A DUBIOUS, strange, uncomprehended life, A roll of riddles with no answer found, A sea-like soul which plummet cannot sound, Torn with belligerent winds at mutual strife. The god in him hath taken unto wife
A daughter of the pit, and, strongly bound In coils of snake-like hair about him wound, Dies, straining hard to raise the severing knife.
For such a sunken soul, what room in Heaven ? For such a soaring soul, what place in Hell ? Can those desires be damned, those doings shriven, Or in some lone mid-region must he dwell For ever ? Lo! God sitteth with the seven Stars in his hand, and shall not He judge well P
JAMES ASBCROFT NOBLE.