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That weep, watch, pray, to hold back dust from dust,

That love, where love is but a fount of tears. Brother, sweet sister! peace

dwellLyre, Sword, and Flower, farewell!

around ye


They grew in beauty, side by side,

They fill'd one home with gleeTheir graves are sever'd far and wide,

By mount, and stream, and sea.

The same fond mother bent at night

O’er each fair sleeping brow;
She had each folded flower in sight-

Where are those dreamers now?

One, 'ínidst the forests of the West,

By a dark stream is laid
The Indian knows his place of rest,

Far in the cedar shade.

The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one,

He lies where pearls lie deepHe was the loved of all, yet none

O'er his low bed may weep.

One sleeps where southern vines are drest,

Above the noble slain;
He wrapt his colours round his breast,

On a blood-red field of Spain.

And one-o'er her the myrtle showers

Its leaves, by soft winds fann'd; She faded ’midst Italian flowers,

The last of that bright band.

And parted thus they rest, who play'd

Beneath the same green tree; Whose voices mingled as they pray'd

Around one parent knee !

They that with smiles lit up the hall,

And cheer'd with song the hearthAlas! for love, if thou wert all,

And nought beyond, Ob earth!



Go to the forest shade,

Seek thou the well-known glade
Where, heavy with sweet dew, the violets lie;

Gleaming through moss-tufts deep,

Like dark eyes fill'd with sleep,
And bathed in hues of summer's midnight sky.

Bring me their buds, to shed

Around my dying bed
A breath of May, and of the wood's repose ;

For I, in sooth, depart

With a reluctant heart, That fain would linger where the bright sun glow

Fain would I stay with thee

Alas! this must not be ;
Yet bring me still the gifts of happier hours !

Go where the fountain's breast

Catches, in glassy rest, The dim green light that pours through laurel bowers.

I know how softly bright,
Steep'd in that tender light,

The water-lilies tremble there, e'en now;

Go to the pure stream's edge,

And from its whispering sedge
Bring me those flowers, to cool my fever'd brow.

Then, as in hope's young days,

Track thou the antique maze
Of the rich garden, to its grassy mound;

There is a lone white rose,

Shedding, in sudden snows,
Its faint leaves o'er the emerald turf around.

Well know'st thou that fair tree!

-A murmur of the bee
Dwells ever in the honied lime above;

Bring me one pearly flower,

Of all its clustering shower-
For on that spot we first reveald our love!

Gather one woodbine bough,

Then, from the lattice low
Of the bower'd cottage which I bade thee mark,

When by the hamlet last

Through dim wood-lanes we pass'd, Where dews were glancing to the glow-worm's


Haste! to my pillow bear
Those fragrant things, and fair-

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