Sinks through the greensward! -is there not a

cry

From the wrung heart, of power, through agony, To pierce the clouds? Hear, Mercy! hear me !

None

That bleed and weep beneath the smiling sun Have heavier cause!

grows dark;

- yet hear!

my soul

Who hears the last shriek from the sinking bark,
On the mid seas, and with the storm alone,
And bearing to th' abyss, unseen, unknown,
Its freight of human hearts?-th' o'ermastering
wave!

Who shall tell how it rush'd-and none to save?

Thou hast forsaken me! I feel, I know,
There would be rescue if this were not so.
Thou'rt at the chase, thou'rt at the festive board,
Thou'rt where the red wine free and high is
pour'd,

Thou'rt where the dancers meet!-a magic glass
I set within my soul, and proud shapes pass,
Flushing it o'er with pomp from bower and
hall;

I see one shadow, stateliest there of all.
Thine! What dost thou amidst the bright and

fair,

Whispering light words, and mocking my despair? It is not well of thee! - my love was more Than fiery song may breathe, deep thought ex

plore,

And there thou smilest, while my heart is dying, With all its blighted hopes around it lying;

Ev'n thou, on whom they hung their last green leaf

Yet smile, smile on! too bright art thou for grief!

Death! - what, is death a lock'd and treasured thing,

Guarded by swords of fire? a hidden spring,
A fabled fruit, that I should thus endure,
As if the world within me held no cure?
Wherefore not spread free wings Heaven,
Heaven! control

These thoughts- they rush-I look into my soul

As down a gulf, and tremble at th' array

Of fierce forms crowding it! Give strength to

pray,

So shall their dark host pass.

The storm is still'd,

Father in Heaven! Thou, only thou, canst

sound,

The hearts great deep, with floods of anguish

fill'd,

For human line too fearfully profound.

Therefore, forgive, my Father! if Thy child, Rock'd on its heaving darkness, hath grown wild, And sinn'd in her despair! It well may be, That Thou wouldst lead my spirit back to Thee, By the crush'd hope too long on this world pour'd, The stricken love which hath perchance adored A mortal in Thy place! Now let me strive With thy strong arm no more! Forgive, forgive' Take me to peace!

And peace at last is nigh. A sign is on my brow, a token sent Th' o'erwearied dust, from home; no breeze

flits by,

But calls me with a strange sweet whisper,

blent

Of many mysteries.

Hark! the warning tone Deepens its word is DEATH. Alone, alone, And sad in youth, but chasten'd, I depart, Bowing to heaven. Yet, yet my woman's heart Shall wake a spirit and a power to bless, Ev'n in this o'ershadowing fearfulness, Thee, its first love!-oh! tender still, and true! Be it forgotten if mine anguish threw Drops from its bitter fountain on thy name, Though but a moment.

Now, with fainting frame, With soul just lingering on the flight begun, To bind for thee its last dim thoughts in one, I bless thee! Peace be on thy noble head, Years of bright fame when I am with the dead! I bid this prayer survive me, and retain Its might, again to bless thee, and again! Thou hast been gather'd into my dark fate Too much; too long, for my sake, desolate Hath been thine exiled youth; but now take

back,

From dying hands thy freedom, and retrack (After a few kind tears for her whose days Went out in dreams of thee) the sunny ways

Of hope, and find thou happiness. Yet send,
Ev'n then, in silent hours, a thought, dear friend!
Down to my voiceless chamber; for thy love
Hath been to me all gifts of earth above,
Though bought with burning tears! It is the
sting

Of death to leave that vainly-precious thing
In this cold world! What were it then, if thou,
With thy fond eyes, wert gazing on me now?
Too keen a pang!-Farewell! and yet once more
Farewell-the passion of long years I pour
Into that word: thou hear'st not,-but the woe
And fervor of its tones may one day flow
To thy heart's holy place; there let them dwell-
We shall o'ersweep the grave to meet--Farewell!

CATHEDRAL HYMN.

A DIM and mighty minster of old time!
A temple shadowy with remembrances
Of the majestic past!-the very light
Streams with a coloring of heroic days
In every ray, which leads through arch and aisle
A path of dreamy lustre, wandering back
To other years;-and the rich fretted roof,
And the wrought coronals of summer leaves,
Ivy and vine, and many a sculptured rose-
The tenderest image of mortality-

Binding the slender columns, whose light shafts
Cluster like stems in corn-sheaves-all these things

Tell of a race that nobly, fearlessly,

On their heart's worship pour'd a wealth of love! Honor be with the dead!-The people kneel Under the helms of antique chivalry,

And in the crimson gloom from banners thrown, And 'midst the forms, in pale proud slumber carved,

Of warriors on their tombs.-The people kneel Where mail-clad chiefs have knelt; where jewell'd crowns

On the flush'd brows of conquerors have been set; Where the high anthems of old victories

Have made the dust give echoes.-Hence, vain thoughts!

Memories of power and pride, which, long ago
Like dim processions of a dream, have sunk
In twilight depths away.-Return, my soul!
The cross recalls thee.-Lo! the blessed cross!
High o'er the banners and the crests of earth,
Fix'd in his meek and still supremacy!
And lo! the throng of beating human hearts,
With all their secret scrolls of buried grief,
All their full treasures of immortal hope,
Gather'd before their God!-Hark! how the
flood

Of the rich organ harmony bears up

Their voice on its high waves a mighty burst!

A forest-sounding. music!-every tone

Which the blasts call forth with their harping

wings

From gulfs of tossing foliage there is blent: