Why did I hear love's first sweet words, and not its last adieu?

What now can breathe of gladness more,--what scene, what hour, what tone?

The blue skies fade with all their lights; they fade, since thou art gone!

Even that must leave me, that still face, by al my tears unmoved

Take me from this dark world with thee, lanthis. my beloved!"

A wail was heard around the bed, the death-bed of the young,

Amidst her tears the Funeral Chant a mournful sister sung.

'Ianthis! brother of my soul!-oh where are now the days

That laugh'd among the deep green hills, on alı our infant plays?

When we two sported by the streams, or track'd them to their source,

And like a stag's, the rocks along, was thy fleet, fearless course,

I see the pines there waving yet, I see the rills descend,

I see thy bounding step no more-my brother and my friend!

"I come with flowers-for spring is come! Ianthis! art thou here?

I bring the garlands she hath brought, I cast them on thy bier!

Thou shouldst be crown'd with victory's crown--but oh! more meet they seem,

The first faint violets of the wood, and lilies of the stream!

More meet for one so fondly loved, and laid this early low

Alas! how sadly sleeps thy face amidst the sunshine's glow:

The golden glow that through thy heart was wont such joy to send,

Woe! that it smiles, and not for thee!—my brother and my friend!"

WOMAN ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE

GENTLE and lovely form,
What didst thou here,
When the fierce battle-storm
Bore down the spear?

Banner and shiver'd crest,
Beside thee strown,
Tell, that amidst the best,
Thy work was done!

Yet strangely, sadly fan.

O'er the wild scene,

Gleams through its golden hair

That brow serene.

Low lies the stately head,-
Earth-bound the free;
How gave those haughty dead
A place to thee?

Slumberer! thine early bier
Friends should have crown'd,
Many a flower and tear
Shedding around.

Soft voices, clear and young,
Mingling their swell,
Should o'er the dust have sung
Earth's last farewell.

Trampling thy place of sleep,-
Why camest thou here?

Why? ask the true heart why
Woman hath been

Ever where brave men die,

Unshrinking seen?

Unto this harvest ground
Proud reapers came,-
Some, for that stirring sound,
A warrior's name ;

Some, for the stormy play
And joy of strife ;
And some, to fling away
A weary life;-

But thou, pale sleeper, thou,
With the slight frame,

And the rich locks, whose glow
Death cannot tame;

Only one thought, one power,
Thee could have led,

So, through the tempest's hour
To lift thy head!

THE FESTAL HOUR.

WHEN are the lessons given

That shake the startled earth? When wakes the foe

While the friend sleeps? When falls the traitor's blow?

When are proud sceptres riven,

High hopes o'erthrown?—It is when lands rejoice, When cities blaze and lift th' exulting voice, And wave their banners to the kindling heaven!

Fear ye the festal hour!

When mirth o'erflows, then tremble !-'Twas a

night

Of gorgeous revel, wreaths, and dance, and light,
When through the regal bower

The trumpet peal'd, ere yet the song was done,
And there were shrieks in golden Babylon,
And trampling armies, ruthless in their power.

The marble shrines were crown'd· Young voices through the blue Athenian sky, And Dorian reeds, made summer melody, And censers waved around;

And lyres were strung and bright libations pour'd! When, through the streets, flash'd out th' avenging

sword,

Fearless and free, the sword with myrtles bound!