: Private Letters of Edward Gibbon (1753-1794) Volume 1 (of 2) by Gibbon Edward Sheffield Henry North Holroyd Earl Of Author Of Introduction Etc Prothero Rowland E Rowland Edmund Baron Ernle Editor - Great Britain Intellectual life 18th century; Gibbon Edwar

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PAGE ST. CATHERINE BORNE BY ANGELS 1 THE CHARMER 6 KNOCKING 10 THE OLD PSALM TUNE 15 THE OTHER WORLD 19 MARY AT THE CROSS 22 THE INNER VOICE 28 ABIDE IN ME, AND I IN YOU 30 THE SECRET 32 THINK NOT ALL IS OVER 34 LINES TO THE MEMORY OF "ANNIE" 36 THE CROCUS 39 CONSOLATION 41 "ONLY A YEAR" 44 BELOW 47 ABOVE 49 LINES ON THE DEATH OF MRS. STUART 53 SUMMER STUDIES 57

HOURS OF THE NIGHT.

PRESSED FLOWERS FROM ITALY.

A DAY IN THE PAMFILI DORIA 93 THE GARDENS OF THE VATICAN 102 ST. PETER'S CHURCH 104 THE MISERERE 106

ST. CATHERINE BORNE BY ANGELS.

SLOW through the solemn air, in silence sailing, Borne by mysterious angels, strong and fair, She sleeps at last, blest dreams her eyelids veiling, Above this weary world of strife and care.

Lo how she passeth!--dreamy, slow, and calm: Scarce wave those broad, white wings, so silvery bright; Those cloudy robes, in star-emblazoned folding, Sweep mistily athwart the evening light.

Far, far below, the dim, forsaken earth, The foes that threaten, or the friends that weep; Past, like a dream, the torture and the pain: For so He giveth his beloved sleep.

The restless bosom of the surging ocean Gives back the image as the cloud floats o'er, Hushing in glassy awe his troubled motion; For one blest moment he complains no more.

Like the transparent golden floor of heaven, His charmed waters lie as in a dream, And glistening wings, and starry robes unfolding, And serious angel eyes far downward gleam.

Ah, sea! to-morrow, that sweet scene forgotten, Dark tides and tempests shall thy bosom rear; And thy complaining waves, with restless motion, Shall toss their hands in their old wild despair.

So o'er our hearts sometimes the sweet, sad story Of suffering saints, borne homeward crowned and blest, Shines down in stillness with a tender glory, And makes a mirror there of breathless rest.

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