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Go to thy home, rejoicing son and brother!
Bear in fresh gladness to the household scene!
For me, too, watch the sister and the mother,
I well believe-but dark seas roll between.

THE SOLDIER'S DEATH-BED.

"Wie herrlich die Sonne dort untergeht! da ich noch ein Bube war -war's mein Lieblingsgedanke, wie sie zu leben, wie sie zu sterben!" DIE RAUBER.

LIKE thee to die, thou sun!-My boyhood's dream
Was this; and now my spirit, with thy beam,
Ebbs from a field of victory !-yet the hour
Bears back upon me, with a torrent's power,
Nature's deep longings. Oh! for some kind eye
Wherein to meet love's fervent farewell gaze;
Some breast to pillow life's last agony,
Some voice, to speak of home and better days,
Beyond the pass of shadows! But I go,
I that have been so loved, go hence alone;
And ye, now gathering round my own hearth's glow,
Sweet friends! it may be that a softer tone,
Ev'n in this moment, with your laughing glee,
Mingles its cadence while you speak of me-
Of me, your soldier, midst the mountains lying,
On the red banner of his battles dying,
Far, far away! And oh! your parting prayer-
Will not his name be fondly murmur'd there?
It will!-A blessing on that holy hearth!
Though clouds are darkening to o'ercast its mirth.
Mother! I may not hear thy voice again;
Sisters! ye watch to greet my step in vain;
Young brother, fare thee well!-on each dear head
Blessing and love a thousandfold be shed,
My soul's last earthly breathings! May your home
Smile for you ever!-May no winter come,
Noworld, between your hearts! May ev'n your tears,
For my sake, full of long-remember'd years,
Quicken the true affections that entwine
Your lives in one bright bond! I may not sleep
Amidst our fathers, where those tears might shine
Over my slumbers; yet your love will keep
My memory living in th' ancestral halls,
Where shame hath never trod. The dark night falls,
And I depart. The brave are gone to rest,
The brothers of my combats, on the breast
Of the red field they reap'd:-their work is done-
Thou, too, art set !-farewell, farewell, thou sun!
The last lone watcher of the bloody sod
Offers a trusting spirit up to God.

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Oh! many are the mansions there,1
But not in one hath grief a share!
No haunting shade from things gone by
May there o'ersweep th' unchanging sky.

And they are there, whose long-loved mien
In earthly home no more is seen;
Whose places, where they smiling sate,
Are left unto us desolate.

We miss them when the board is spread;
We miss them when the prayer is said;
Upon our dreams their dying eyes
In still and mournful fondness rise.

But they are where these longings vain
Trouble no more the heart and brain;
The sadness of this aching love
Dims not our Father's house above.

Ye are at rest, and I in tears,2
Ye dwellers of immortal spheres!
Under the poplar boughs I stand,
And mourn the broken household band.

But, by your life of lowly faith,
And by your joyful hope in death,
Guide me, till on some brighter shore
The sever'd wreath is bound once more!

Holy ye were, and good, and true!

No change can cloud my thoughts of you;
Guide me, like you to live and die,
And reach my Father's house on high!

THE STRANGER'S HEART.

THE stranger's heart! Oh, wound it not!
A yearning anguish 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 leaves
Glad music round thy household eaves;
To him that sound hath sorrow's tone-
The stranger's heart is with his own.

"In my father's house there are many mansions."John, chap. xiv.

From an ancient Hebrew dirge:

"Mourn for the mourner, and not for the dead,

For he is at rest, and we in tears!"

Thou think'st thy children's laughing play
A lovely sight at fall of day;
Then are the stranger's thoughts oppress'd-
His mother's voice comes o'er his breast.

Thou think'st it sweet when friend with 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 bless'd thou art,
Deal gently with the stranger's heart!

TO A REMEMBERED PICTURE.

[She was singularly impressed by the picture at Holyrood House, shown as that of Rizzio. The authenticity of this designation is more than doubtful; but hers was not a mind for question or cavil on points of this nature. The "local habitation and the name" were in themselves sufficient to awaken her fancy, and to satisfy her faith. As Rizzio's portrait, it took its place in her imagination; and the train of deep and mournful thoughts it suggested, imbued, as was her wont, with the colouring of her own individual feelings, was embodied in the lines "To a Remembered Picture."-Memoir, p. 197-8.]

THEY haunt me still-those calm, pure, holy eyes! Their piercing sweetness wanders through my dreams;

The soul of music that within them lies

Comes o'er my soul in soft and sudden gleams: Life-spirit-life-immortal and divine

Is there; and yet how dark a death was thine!

Could it-oh! could it be-meek child of song?
The might of gentleness on that fair brow-
Was the celestial gift no shield from wrong?
Bore it no talisman to ward the blow?
Ask if a flower, upon the billows cast,
Might brave their strife-a flute-note hush the blast!

Are there not deep, sad oracles to read

In the clear stillness of that radiant face? Yes! even like thee must gifted spirits bleed, Thrown on a world, for heavenly things no place! Bright, exiled birds that visit alien skies, Pouring on storms their suppliant melodies.

And seeking ever some true, gentle breast, Whereon their trembling plumage might repose,

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