Dark, dark perchance the day Hath been with valour's fate; But he is on his homeward way

From the Roncesvalles' Strait.

'There is dust upon his joyous brow,
And o'er his graceful head,

And the warhorse will not wake him now,
Though it browse his greensward bed.
I have seen the stripling die,

And the strong man meet his fate,
Where the mountain winds go sounding by,
In the Roncesvalles' Strait.'

THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.

HE stately homes of England,

THE

How beautiful they stand,

Amidst their tall ancestral trees,

O'er all the pleasant land!

The deer across their greensward bound,
Through shade and sunny gleam,

And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.

The merry homes of England—
Around their hearths by night,

What gladsome looks of household love

Meet in the ruddy light!

There woman's voice flows forth in song
Or childhood's tale is told;

And lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.

The blessed homes of England,
How softly on their bowers

Is laid the holy quietness

That breathes from Sabbath hours!

Solemn, yet sweet, the church bells' chime
Floats through their woods at morn,
All other sounds in that still time
Of breeze and leaf are born.

The cottage homes of England!
By thousands on her plains,

They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks,
And round the hamlet fanes.
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,
Each from its nook of leaves,

And fearless there the lowly sleep,
As the bird beneath their eaves.

The free fair homes of England!
Long, long to hut and hall,
May hearts of native proof be reared
To guard each hallowed wall.
And green for ever be her groves,
And bright the flowery sod,

Where first the child's glad spirit loves
Its country and its God.

A DIRGE.

ALM on the bosom of thy God,

CA

Fair spirit, rest thee now!

E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod

His seal was on thy brow.

Dust, to its narrow house beneath!

Soul, to its place on high!

They that have seen thy look in death

No more may fear to die.

THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.

HEY grew in beauty side by side,

THEY

They filled one home with glee! Their graves are severed far and wide, By mountain, 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 'midst 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 deep;
He 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 fanned;
She faded 'midst Italian flowers-
The last of that bright band.

And parted thus they rest who played
Beneath the same green tree;
Whose voices mingled as they prayed
Around one parent knee!