SISTER! SINCE I MET THEE LAST.

SISTER! Since I met thee last,
O'er thy brow a change hath past,
In the softness of thine eyes,

Deep and still a shadow lies;

From thy voice there thrills a tone,
Never to thy childhood known;
Through thy soul a storm hath moved,
-Gentle sister, thou hast loved!

Yes! thy varying cheek hath caught
Hues too bright from troubled thought;
Far along the wandering stream,
Thou art followed by a dream :
In the woods and valleys lone
Music haunts thee, not thine own:
Wherefore fall thy tears like rain?
-Sister, thou hast loved in vain!

Tell me not the tale, my flower!
On my bosom pour that shower!
Tell me not of kind thoughts wasted;
Tell me not of young hopes blasted;
Wring not forth one burning word,
Let thy heart no more be stirr'd!
Home alone can give thee rest.
-Weep, sweet sister, on my breast!

THE TWO VOICES.

Two solemn Voices, in a funeral strain,
Met as rich sunbeams and dark bursts of rain
Meet in the sky:

"Thou art gone hence!" one sang;

light is flown,

" Our

Our beautiful, that seem'd too much our own
Ever to die!

"Thou art gone hence!-our joyous hills among Never again to pour thy soul in song,

When spring-flowers rise! Never the friend's familiar step to meet With loving laughter, and the welcome sweet Of thy glad eyes."

"Thou art gone home, gone home!" then, high and clear,

Warbled that other Voice: "Thou hast no tear Again to shed.

Never to fold the robe o'er secret pain,

Never, weigh'd down by Memory's clouds, again To bow thy head.

"Thou art gone home! oh! early crown'd and blest!

Where could the love of that deep heart find rest With aught below?

Thou must have seen rich dream by dream decay, All the bright rose leaves drop from life awayThrice bless'd to go!"

Yet sigh'd again that breeze-like Voice of grief"Thou art gone hence! alas! that aught so brief, So loved should be;

Thou tak'st our summer hence !-the flower, the

tone

The music of our being, all in one,

Depart with thee!

"Fair form, young spirit, morning vision fled! Canst thou be of the dead, the awful dead? The dark unknown?

Yes! to the dwelling where no footsteps fall.
Never again to light up hearth or hall,

Thy smile is gone!"

"Home, home!"

arose:

once more the exulting Voice

"Thou art gone home!-from that divine repose Never to roam !

Never to say farewell, to weep in vain,
To read of change, in eyes beloved, again—
Thou art gone home!

"By the bright waters now thy lot is castJoy for thee, happy friend! thy bark hath past The rough sea's foam!

Now the long yearnings of thy soul are still'd, Home! home! thy peace is won, thy heart is fill'd. Thou art gone home!"

THE IMAGE IN LAVA.*

THOU thing of years departed!
What ages have gone by,
Since here the mournful seal was set
By love and agony?

Temple and tower have moulder'd,
Empires from earth have pass'd,
And woman's heart hath left a trace
Those glories to outlast!

And childhood's fragile image,
Thus fearfully enshrined,
Survives the proud memorials rear'd
By conquerors of mankind.

Babe! wert thou brightly slumbering
Upon thy mother's breast,
When suddenly the fiery tomb

Shut round each gentle guest?

A strange, dark fate o'ertook you,
Fair babe and loving heart!
One moment of a thousand pangs—

Yet better than to part!

The impression of a woman's form, with an infant clasped te the bosom, found at the uncovering of Herculaneum.

Haply of that fond bosom
On ashes here impress'd,
Thou wert the only treasure, child!
Whereon a hope might rest.

Perchance all vainly lavish'd
Its other love had been,

And where it trusted, naught remain'd
But thorns on which to lean.

Far better, then, to perish,

Thy form within its clasp,

Than live and lose thee, precious one! From that impassion'd grasp.

Oh! I could pass all relics
Left by the pomps of old,
To gaze on this rude monument
Cast in affection's mould.

Love, human love! what art thou?
Thy print upon the dust
Outlives the cities of renown
Wherein the mighty trust!

Immortal, oh! immortal

Thou art, whose earthly glow Hath given these ashes holinessIt must, it must be so!