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But oh, more soft, more tender, breathing more

A thought of pity than in vanishi'd days; While hoy'ring silently and brightly o'er

The lone one's head, they meet hier spirit's gaze With their immortal eyes, they seem to say, “ Yet sister! yet we love theecome away

!" 'Twill fade, the radiant dream! and will she not

Wake with more painful yearning at her heart? Will not her home seem yet a lonelier spot,

Her task more sad, when those bright shadows pari ? And the green summer after them look dim, And sorrow's tone be in the bird's wild hynin ? But let her hope be strong, and let the dead

Visit her soul in heaven's calm beauty still;
Be their names utter'd, be their memory spread,

Yet round the place they never more may fill
All is not over wiih earth's broken tie-
Where, where should sisters love, if not on bigh!


" And when they came to Marah, they could not drink of the waters of Marah, for they were bitter.

" And the people murmured against Moses, saying, What shall we drink?

“ And he cried unto the Lord ; and the Lord shewed him a tree, which,, when he had cast into the waters, the waters were made sweet."--Exod. xv. 23.-25.

WHERE is the tree the prophet threw,

Into the bitter wave ?
Left it no scion where it grew,

The thirsty soul to save ?
Hath nature lost the hidden power,

Its precious foliage shed ?
Is there no distant eastern bower,

With such sweet leaves o'erspread!

Nay, wherefore ask ?-since gifts are ours,

Which yet may well imbue,

many troubled founts with showers
Of heaven's own balmy dew.
Oh! mingled with the cup of grief,

Let faith's deep spirit be,
And every prayer shall win a leaf,

From that blest healing tree!


Hast thou through Eden's wild wood vales pursued
Each mountain-scene magnificently rude,
Nor with attention's lifted eye revered,
That modest stone which pious Pembroke reared,
Which still records, beyond the Peneil's power,
The silent sorrows of a parting hour.

Pleasures of Memory.
MOTHER and child! whose blending tears

Have sanctified the place,
Where to the love of many years

Was given one last embrace;
0! ye have set a spell of power
Deep in the records of that hour;
A spell to awaken solemn thought,

A still small under tone,
That calls back days of childhood, fraught

With many å treasure gone;.
And smites, perchance, the hidden source,
Though loug untroubled, of remorse.
For who that gazes on the stone

Which marks your parting spot,
Who but a mother's love hath known,

The one love changing not?
Alas! and haply learned its worth,
First with the sound of earth to earth ?"
But thou, true hearted daughter! thou

O'er whose bright honored head
Blessings and tears of holiest flow

Even here were fondly shed ;

Thou from the passion of thy grief
In its full tide couldst draw relief.
For ob ! though paivful be the excess,

The mighit wlierewith it swells,
In nature's fount no bitterness

of Nature's mingling dwells, And thou hadst not, by wrong or pride, Poison'd the free and healthful tide. But didst thou meet the face no more

Which thy young heart first knew?
And all-was all in this world o'er

Witb ties thus close and true ?
It was; on earth no other eye
Could give thee back thine infancy.
No other voice could pierce the maze

Where deep within thy breast,
The sounds and dreams of other days

With menory lay at rest;
No other smile to thee could bring
A gladdening like the breath of Spring.
Yet while thy place of weeping still

Its lone memorial keeps,
While on thy name, midst wood and hill,

The quiet sunshine sleeps,
And touches, in each graven line,
Of reverential thought a sign;
Can I, while yet these tokens wear

The impress of the dead,
Think of ihe love embodied there,

As of a vision fled ?
A perish'd thing, the joy and flower
And glory of an earthly hour?
Not so !-I will not bow me so

To thoughts that breathe despair;
A loftier faith we need below,

Life's farewell words to bear! Mother and child !-your tears are sastSurely your hearts have met al last


THE stranger's heart! oh, wound it not !
A yearning avguish is its lot;
In the green shadow of thy tree
The stranger finds no rest with thee.
Thou think'st the vine's low rustling leave's
Glad music round thy household eaves;
To him that sound hath sorrow's tone-
The stranger's heart is with his own.
Thou think'st thy children's laughing play
A lovely sight at fall of day!
Then are the stranger's thoughts opprest-
His mother's voice comes o'er his breast.
Thou think'st it sweet when friend to friend
Beneath one roof in prayer may blend ;
Then doth the stranger's eye grow dim-
Far, far are those who pray'd with him.
Thy hearth, thy home, thy vintage land-
The voices of thy kindred band;
Oh, 'midst them all when blest thon art,
Deal gently with the stranger's heart !


" Ay, warrior, arm! and wear thy piume

On a proud and fearless brow!
I am the lord of the lonely tomb,

And a mightier one than thou !
Bid thy soul's love farewell, young chief!

Bid her a long farewell !

Like the morning's dew shall pass that grief

Thou comest with me to dwell!
Thy bark may rush through the foaming deep,

Thy steed o'er the breezy bill;
But they bear thee on to a place of sleep,

Narrow, and cold, and chill!" “Was the voice I heard, thy voice, O Death ?

And is thy day so near?
Then on the field shall my life's last breath

Mingle with Victory's cheer!
Banners shall float with the trumpet's note,

Above me as I die!
And the palm tree wave o'er my noble grave,

Under the Syrian sky.
High hearts shall burn in the royal hall,

When the minstrel names that spot;
And the eyes I love shall weep my fall

Death! Death! I fear thee not." “ Warrior! thou bearest a haughty heart,

But I can bend its pride!
How shouldst thou know that thy soul will part

In the liour of Victory's tide ?
It may be far from thy steel-clad bands,

That I shall make thee mine ;
It may be lone on the desert sands,

Where men for fountains pine!
It may be deep amidst heavy chains,

In some strong Paynim hold
I have slow dull steps and lingering pains,

Wherewith to tame the bold !"
" Death! Death! I go to a doom unblest

If this indeed must be !
But the cross is bound upon my breast,

And I may not shrink for thee!
Sound, clarion, sound'--for my vows are given

To the cause of the holy shrine;
I bow my soul to the will of Heaven,

O Death! and not to thine!”

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