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,
The faith, the love, the lofty constancy,
Guide us where these are with our sister flown-
They were of Thee, and thou hast claim'd thine
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." Forget not the faithful dead. See Richardson's Translation of Korner's Life and Works, and Downe's Letters from Mecklenburgh.

GREEN wave the oak for ever o'er thy rest,
Thou that beneath its crowning foliage sleepest
And, in the stillness of thy country's breast,
Thy place of memory, as an altar, keepest ;
Brightly thy spirit o'er her hills was pour'd,
Thou of the lyre and sword!

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 Ont le pire destin:

Ft Rose, elle a dure, ce que durent les rosos, L'espace d'un matin.

EARTH! guard what here we lay in holy trust, That which hath left our home a darken'd place,

Wanting the form, the smile, now veil'd with dust,
The light departed with our loveliest face.
Yet from thy bonds, undying hope springs free-
We have but lent our beautiful to thee.

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.

Thou hast a hero's tomb:-a lowlier bed
Is hers, the gentle girl beside thee lying,
The gentle girl that bow'd her fair young head,
When thou wert gone, in silent sorrow dying.
Brother, true friend! the tender and the brave→→→

She pined to share thy grave.

Fame was thy gift from others;-but for her,

To whom the wide world held that only spot She loved thee!-lovely in your lives ye were, And in your carly deaths divided not. Thou hast thine oak, thy trophy-what hath

she?

Her own blest place by thee'