-They had one grave-one lonely bridal bed— A THOUGHT OF THE FUTURE. DREAMER! and wouldst thou know If Love goes with us to the viewless bourne? Wouldst thou bear hence th' unfathom'd source of woe In thy heart's lonely urn? What hath it been to thee, That power, the dweller of thy secret breast? A precious odour cast On a wild stream, that recklessly swept by; Even were such answer thine, Wouldst thou be blest?-too sleepless, too profound, Are thy soul's hidden springs; there is no line Their depth of love to sound. Do not words faint and fail, When thou wouldst fill them with that ocean's power? As thine own cheek before high thoughts grows pale In some o'erwhelming power? Doth not thy frail form sink Beneath the chain that binds thee to one spot, When thy heart strives, held down by many a link Where thy beloved are not? And wouldst thou bear all this, The burden and the shadow of thy life, Not thus, not thus-oh no Not veil'd and mantled with dim clouds of care, But as the sky-lark springs Vainly it shall not strive There on weak words to pour a stream of fire; Thought unto thought shall kindling impulse give, As light might wake a lyre. THE BELL AT SEA. The dangerous islet called the Bell-Rock, on the coast of Fife, used formerly to be marked only by a bell, which was so placed as to be swung by the motion of the waves, when the tide rose above the rock. A light-house has since been erected there. WHEN the tide's billowy swell Far over cliff and surge Swept the deep sound, Making each wild wind's dirge Still more profound. Yet that funereal tone E'en so may we, that float On life's wide sea, Welcome each warning note, Stern though it be! THE COTTAGE GIRL. A CHILD beside a hamlet's fount at play, To gaze on Heaven's and Earth's unsullied smile! What had the scene for memory to recall With a fond look of love? What secret spell With the heart's pictures made its image dwell? What but the spirit of the joyous child, That freshly forth o'er stream and verdure smiled, Casting upon the common things of earth A brightness. born and gone with infant mirth! DEATH OF AN INFANT. DEATH found strange beauty on that cherub brow, For ever; there had been a murmuring sound, With which the babe would claim its mother's ear, Charming her even to tears. The spoiler set His scal of silence. But there beam'd a smile So fix'd and holy from that marble brow,— Death gazed, and left it there ;-he dared not steal The signet-ring of Heaven. THE SUBTERRANEAN STREAM "Thou stream, Whose source is inaccessibly profound, Whither do thy mysterious waters tend? Thou imagest my life." DARKLY thou glidest onward, Thou deep and hidden wave! The laughing sunshine hath not look'd Into thy secret cave. Thy current makes no music- No brighter line of verdure Follows thy lonely way; No fairy moss, or lily's cup, Is freshen'd by thy play. The halcyon doth not seek thee, Her glorious wings to lave; Thou know'st no tint of the summer sky Thou dark and hidden wave! Yet once will day behold thee, When to the mighty sea, Fresh bursting from their cavern'd veins Leap thy lone waters free. There wilt thou greet the sunshine For a moment, and be lost, With all thy melancholy sounds, In the ocean's billowy host. Oh! art thou not, dark river, Those earth-born strange misgivings They hold no heart-communion, They find no voice in song, They dimly follow far from earth The grave's departed throng. Thy pensive eye but ranges O'er ruin'd fane and hall, More sorrowful than all. Talk not, while these before thee throng See scorn-where love has perish'd; Weep not for tombs far scatter'd, The altars it had made. Go, sound its depths in doubt and fear! Heap up no more its treasures here. HYMN OF THE VAUDOIS MOUNTAINEERS IN TIMES OF PERSECUTION. "Thanks be to God for the mountains!"" For the strength of the hills we bless thee, By the touch of the mountain sod. Where the spoiler's foot ne'er trod; For the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our God, our father's God! The gloomiest soul is not all gloom; The saddest heart is not all sadness; And sweetly o'er the darkest doom The spirit meek, and yet by pain unshaken, own! KORNER AND HIS SISTER. Charles Theodore Korner, the celebrated young German poet and soldier, was killed in a skirmish with a detachment of French troops, on the 20th of August, 1813, a few hours after the composition of his popular piece, "The Sword-song." He was buried at the village of Wobbelin in Mecklenburgh, under a beautiful oak, in a recess of which he had frequently deposited verses composed by him while campaigning in its vicinity. The monument erected to his memory is of cast iron, and the upper part is wrought into a lyre and sword, a favourite emblem of Korner's, from which one of his works had been ontitled. Near the grave of the poet is that of his only sister, who died of grief for his loss, having only survived him long enough to complete his portrait, and a drawing of his burialplace. Over the gate of the cemetery is engraved one of his own lines: "Vergiss die treuen Todten nicht." GREEN wave the oak for ever o'er thy rest, Rest, bard! rest, soldier!-by the father's hand There shines some lingering beam of gladness. With his wreath-offering silently to stand, Despair is never quite despair; Nor life, nor death, the future closes; And round the shadowy brow of care Will hope and fancy twine their roses. MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION. Elle etait du monde, ou les plus belles choses Ft Rose, elle a dure, ce que durent les roses, EARTH! guard what here we lay in holy trust, Wanting the form, the smile, now veil'd with dust, But thou, oh Heaven! keep, keep what Thou hast taken, And with our treasure keep our hearts on high!' In the hush'd presence of the glorious dead. Soldier and bard! for thou thy path hast trod With freedom and with God. The oak waved proudly o'er thy burial rite, And with true hearts thy brethren of the fight thee, And the deep guns with rolling peal gave token, Thou hast a hero's tomb:-a lowlier bed She pined to share thy grave. Fame was thy gift from others;-but for her, Her own blest place by thee! Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done! FRAGMENT. Он, what is Nature's strength? the vacant eye Arches of triumphs long with weeds o'ergrown, Thou hast thy home!- there is no power in change To reach that temple of the past-no sway In all time brings, of sudden, dark, or strange, To sweep the still transparent peace away From its hush'd air. And, oh! that glorious image of the dead! Blest, for the beautiful within thee dwelling, And thou hast been beloved!-it is no dream, But thou, from all the daughters of the earth Singled and mark'd, hast known its home and place, And the high memory of its holy worth And art thou not still fondly, truly loved? THE IVY OF KENILWORTIL HEARD'ST thou what the Ivy sigh'd, With its many glistening leaves, Heard'st thou, while with dews of night "Where I am, the harp hath rung "Where I am, now last and lone, |