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Charming her even to tears. The spoiler set
So fixed and holy from that marble brow,-
TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND AND REL
" Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”
We miss thy voice while early flowers are blowing,
And the first flush of blossom clothes each bough, And the spring sunshine round our home is glowing,
Soft as thy smile-thou wouldst be with us now! With us ! —we wrong thee by the earthly thought
Could our fond gaze but follow where thou art, Well might the glories of this world seem naught
To the one promise given the pure in heart. Yet wert thou blest e'en here-oh! ever blest
In thine own sunny thoughts and tranquil faith; The silent joy that still o'erflowed thy breast,
Needed but guarding from all change, by death, So is it sealed to peace!—on thy clear brow
Never was care one fleeting shade to cast, And thy calm days in brightness were to flow,
A holy stream, untroubled to the last ! Farewell! thy life hath left surviving love
A wealth of records and sweet' feelings given,' From sorrow's heart the faintness to remove,
By whispers breathing less of earth than heaven.'
Thus rests thy spirit still on those with whom
Thy step the path of joyous duty trod, Bidding them make an altar of thy tomb,
Where chastened thought may offer praise to God!
“While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.”
How many thousands are awakening now!
And some, far out on the deep mid-sea,
So are we roused on this chequer'd earth,
THE GRAVE OF A POETESS.*
“Ne me plaignez pas si vous saviez combien de peines
ce tombeau m'a epargnees!”
I stood beside thy lonely grave;
Spring odors breathed around,
Pass'd with a lulling sound.
In the brighi air glanced by,
Through the soft azure sky.
That fringed the ruins near;
Their sweetness couldst not hear. * " Extrinsic interest has lately attached to the fine scenery of Woodstock, near Kilkenny, on account of its having been the last residence of the author of Psyche. Her grave is one of many in the church-yard of the village. The river runs smoothly by. The ruins of an ancient abbey, that have been partially converted into a church, reverently throw their mantle of tender shade over it. It is the very spot for the grave of a poetess."
Tules by the O'Huru Family.
And mournful grew my heart for thee,
Thou in whose. woman's mind
The light of song was shrined. Mournful, that thou wert slumbering low,
With a dread curtain drawn Between thee and the golden glow
Of this world's vernal dawn!
Parted from all the song and bloom
Thou wouldst bave loved so well,
Was but a broken spell.
la their bright reckless play,
And thou wert passed away! -But then, ev'n then, a nobler thought
O’er my vain sadness came; Th’immortal spirit woke and wrought
Withiu my thrilling frame. Surely on lovelier things, I said,
Thou must have looked ere now,
Odors and hues below!
Yet beautiful is Earth!
No haunting dream hath birida? Here a vain love to passing flowers
Thou gav'st-but where thou art, The sway is not with changeful hours,
There love and death must part !
A voice not loud, but deep;
How often didst thou weep!
Where couldst thou fix on niortal ground
Thy tender thoughts and bigh?
THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.
The stately Homes of England,
How beautiful they stand!
O'er all that pleasant land!
Through shade and sunny gleam;
Of some rejoicing stream.
Around their hearths by night,
Meet in the ruddy light!
Or childhood's tale is told;
Some glorious page of old. The blessed Homes of England !
How sostly on their bowers Is laid the holy quietness.
That breathes from Sabbath hours! Solemin, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime
Floats through their woods at morn; All other sounds, in that still time,
of breeze and leaf are born.