THE TRIBUNE.

For The Tribune.
TO THE EVENING STAR
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TO THE EVENING STAR.


By JERoME A. NADT.
How art thou blsni with all mysterious things
The untold yearnings of the fever'd breast
With all the dreams that spread thelrp purple wings
And calm sweet thoughts like mountain aus q,
How Ink with many vision from aiaf- l'es'


Now bnghtning, glorious S'a''
why, when thy beams like golden threads hang
To lead The gazer up TO yon serene lfenD,ins
Then throDg the memories of the heart, assembling
To,er ,be soul of all that once hath been!
Jovous o, desolate, whate'er they be


Why come they still with thee'
Jb.,y VOICES tone--for ever fed
Fond moist eyesbeam, that noe are beaming not; /;
Comes back the young-the beautlful-the dead
The los. to earth, but ah =. the unforgot,
Upon whose brsw strange radiance ever scem'd-


From angels nigh that strearn'd,
Whence is thy spell, oh Star. Is thine the place
Where all the souls high dreams are gsrner'd in
Whers dwell earh's good andfalr-upon whose face
There was too much of heaven our smilesto win :!
Ay, all of gentle, loving and of pure,


That might no; here endure1