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THE MEMORIAL PILLAR.
Hast thou, through Eden's wild-wood vales pursued
Mother and child ! whose blending tears
Have sanctified the place,
Was given one last embrace ;
A spell to waken solemn thought,
A still, small under-tone, That calls back days of childhood, fraught
With many a treasure gone; And smites, perchance, the hidden source, Though long 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 learn’d its worth First with the sound of “ Earth to earth ? "
But thou, high-hearted daughter ! thou,
O'er whose bright, honor'd head, Blessings and tears of holiest flow,
Ev'n here were fondly shed, Thou from the passion of thy grief, In its full burst, couldst draw relief.
For oh! though painful be th' excess,
The might wherewith 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,
With ties thus close and true ?
No other voice could pierce the maze
Where deep within thy breast, The sounds and dreams of other days,
With memory lay at rest; No other smile to thee could bring A gladd’ning, like the breath of spring.
Yet while thy place of weeping still
Its lone memorial keeps,
The quiet sunshine sleeps,
Can I, while yet these tokens wear
The impress of the dead,
As of a vision filed ?
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 past Surely your hearts have met at last!
THE GRAVE OF A POETESS.*
• Ne me plaignez pas—si vous saviez
I stoop beside thy lowly grave;
Spring-odors breath'd around,
Pass'd with a lulling sound.
* 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 shadow over it.- Tales by the O'Hara Family.