Yet fearfully and mournfully

Thou bidd'st that earth farewell, Although thou'rt passing, loveliest one! In a brighter land to dwell.

A land where all is deathless-
The sunny wave's repose,
The wood with its rich melodies,
The summer and its rose :

A land that sees no parting,
That hears no sound of sighs,
That waits thee with immortal air-
Lift, lift those anxious eyes!

Oh! how like thee, thou trembler!
Man's spirit fondly clings
With timid love, to this, its world
Of old familiar things!

We pant, we thirst for fountains
That gush not here below!
On, on we toil, allured by dreams
Of the living water's flow:

We pine for kindred natures
To mingle with our own;
For communings more full and high
Than aught by mortal known:

We strive with brief aspirings
Against our bonds in vain;

Yet summon'd to be free at last,

We shrink—and clasp our chain;

And fearfully and mournfully
We bid the earth farewell,
Though passing from its mists, like thee,
In a brighter world to dwell.

THE BOON OF MEMORY.

"Many things answered me."-Manfred.

I GO, I go!-and must mine image fade
From the green spots wherein my childhood play'd,
By my own streams ?

Must my life part from each familiar place,
As a bird's song, that leaves the woods no trace
Of its lone themes?

Will the friend pass my dwelling, and forget
The welcomes there, the hours when we have met
In grief or glee ?

All the sweet counsel, the communion high,
The kindly words of trust, in days gone by,
Pour'd full and free?

A boon, a talisman, O Memory! give,

To shrine my name in hearts where I would live
For evermore!

Bid the wind speak of me where I have dwelt,

Bid the stream's voice, of all my soul hath felt,
A thought restore!

In the rich rose, whose bloom I loved so well,
In the dim brooding violet of the dell,

Set deep that thought;

And let the sunset's melancholy glow,

And let the spring's first whisper, faint and low,
With me be fraught !

And Memory answer'd me:—

"Wild wish, and vain!

I have no hues the loveliest to detain

In the heart's core.

The place they held in bosom's all their own,
Soon with new shadows fill'd, new flowers o'ergrown,
Is theirs no more."

Hast thou such power, O Love? And Love replied:

"It is not mine! Pour out thy soul's full tide Of hope and trust,

Prayer, tear, devotedness, that boon to gain'Tis but to write, with the heart's fiery rain, Wild words on dust!"

Song, is the gift with thee? I ask a lay,
Soft, fervent, deep, that will not pass away
From the still breast;

Fill'd with a tone-oh! not for deathless fame,
But a sweet haunting murmur of my name,
Where it would rest.

And Song made answer-
Though call'd immortal;

All but divine.

"It is not in me,

though my gifts may be

A place of lonely brightness I can give:

A changeless one, where thou with Love wouldst live

This is not mine!"

Death, Death! wilt thou the restless wish fulfil?
And Death, the Strong One, spoke:-"I can but still
Each vain regret.

What if forgotten?-All thy soul would crave,
Thou, too, within the mantle of the grave,
Wilt soon forget."

Then did my heart in lone faint sadness die,
As from all nature's voices one reply,

But one-was given.

"Earth has no heart, fond dreamer! with a tone To send thee back the spirit of thine own

Seek it in heaven."

DARTMOOR.

A PRIZE POEM.

"Come, bright Improvement! on the car of Time,
And rule the spacious world from clime to clime.
Thy handmaid, Art, shall every wild explore,
Trace every wave, and culture every shore."

AMIDST the peopled and the regal isle,
Whose vales, rejoicing in their beauty, smile;
Whose cities, fearless of the spoiler, tower,
And send on every breeze a voice of power;
Hath Desolation rear'd herself a throne,
And mark'd a pathless region for her own?
Yes! though thy turf no stain of carnage wore
When bled the noble hearts of many a shore;
Though not a hostile step thy heath-flowers bent
When empires totter'd, and the earth was rent;