His spirit passed from earth away as Sol's last dying beams
Lit up the golden Eldorado of all his boyish dreams.




THE GIRL MARTYR.


Upon his sculptured judgment throne the Roman Ruler sate;
His glittering minions stood around in all their gorgeous state;
But proud as were the noble names that flashed upon each shield--
Names known in lofty council halls as well as tented field--
None dared approach to break the spell of deep and silent gloom
That hover'd o'er his haughty brow, like shadow of the tomb.

While still he mused the air was rent with loud and deaf'ning
cry,
And angry frown and darker smile proclaimed the victim nigh.
No traitor to his native land, no outlaw fierce was there,
'Twas but a young and gentle girl, as opening rose bud fair,
Who stood alone among those men, so dark and full of guile,
And yet her cheek lost not its bloom, her lips their gentle
smile.

At length he spoke, that ruthless chief, in tones both stern and
dread:
"Girl! listen! mark me well, or else thy blood be on thy head!
Thou art accused of worshipping Jesus the Nazarene--
Of scorning Rome's high, mighty Gods,--speak, say if this has