THE FROZEN CASCADE 367 
She, meanwhile, remote from me 
Drifts on sleep’s unfathomed sea. 
So may every dream of ill 
Find its anchorage, and be still ; 
Sorrow furl its sails and cease 
In this midnight realm of peace ; 
And each wandering thought find rest 
In the haven of her breast. 
THE FROZEN CASCADE 
THE BRIDE OF THE ROCK 
In beauty perfected, with lavish grace, 
She casts herself about his rugged form, 
With all her vesture on, of snowy white, 
Nor left one pendant out, one dropping pearl. 
Could she be fairer? Through her inmost 
veins 
The warm sun searches, as for some weak spot ; 
But with a pride refined she smileth back : 
“T gave myself in beauty to this Rock ; 
Ancient he is, and reverend and strong ; 
And I will fringe him with my snowy arms, 
And lay my white cheek on his dark gray 
brow, 
Nor ever melt for all thy beaming eyes!” 
Ss. L. H. 
