IVY SONG.

WRITTEN ON RECEIVING SOME IVY LEAVES GATHERED FROM THE RUINED CASTLE OF RHEINFELS, ON THE RHINE.

Where, through the halls of glory TO ONE OF THE AUTHOR'S

O'er towers that crest the noble Rhine, Watching thy footsteps, and guarding Along his rocky shore.

ON A SIMILAR OCCASION.

THOU wakest from rosy sleep, to play
With bounding heart, my boy!
Before thee lies a long bright day
Of summer and of joy.

Thou hast no heavy thought or dream

To cloud thy fearless eye:
Long be it thus !-life's early stream
Should still reflect the sky.

Yet, ere the cares of life lie dim

On thy young spirit's wings
Now in thy morn forgot not Him
From whom each pure thought
springs.

So, in the onward vale of tears,
Where'er thy path may be,

When strength hath bowed to evil

years,

He will remember thee!

And waves came rolling high and dark,

And the tall mast was bowed.

And men stood breathless in their
dread,

And baffled in their skill;
But One was there, who rose and said
To the wild sea--Be still!

And the wind ceased-it ceased! that
word

Passed through the gloomy sky;
The troubled billows knew their Lord,
And fell beneath His eye.

And slumber settled on the deep,
And silence on the blast;

They sank, as flowers that fold to
sleep

When sultry day is past.

O Thou! that in its wildest hour
Didst rule the tempest's mood,

Send thy meek spirit forth in power,
Soft on our souls to brood!

CHRIST STILLING THE TEM- Thou that didst bow the billow's

PEST.

FEAR was within the tossing bark
When the stormy winds grew loud,

pride

Thy mandate to fulfil!

Oh, speak to passion's raging tide,
Speak, and say, Peace be still.!"

EPITAPH

OVER THE GRAVE OF TWO BROTHERS, A CHILD AND A YOUTH.

THOU, that canst gaze upon thine own fair boy,
And hear his prayer's low murmur at thy knee,
And o'er his slumber bend in breathless joy,

Come to this tomb!-it hath a voice for thee!
Pray! Thou art blest-ask strength for sorrow's hour:
Love, deep as thine, lays here its broken flower.

Thou that art gathering from the smile of youth
Thy thousand hopes, rejoicing to behold
All the heart's depths before thee bright with truth,
All the mind's treasures silently unfold,
Look on this tomb!-for thee, too, speaks the grave,
Where God hath sealed the fount of hope he gave.

MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION.

EARTH! guard what here we lay in holy trust,
That which hath left our home a darkened place,
Wanting the form, the smile, now veiled with dust,
The light departed with our loveliest face.
Yet from thy bonds our sorrow's hope is free-
We have but lent the beautiful to thee.

But thou, O Heaven! keep, keep what thou hast taken,
And with our treasure keep our hearts on high;
The spirit meek, and yet by pain unshaken,
The faith, the love, the lofty constancy--

Guide us where these are with our sisters Blown-
They were of Thee, and thou hast claimed thine own

THE SOUND OF THE SEA.

THOU art sounding on, thou mighty sea!
Forever and the same;

The ancient rocks yet ring to thee-
Those thunders naught can taine.

Oh! many a glorious voice is gone
From the rich bowers of earth,
And hushed is many a lovely one
Of mournfulness or mirth.

The Dorian flute that sighed of yore
Along the wave, is still;

The harp of Judah peals no more
On Zion's awful hill.

The Memnon's lyre hath lost the chord

That breathed the mystic tone;

And the songs at Rome's high triumph poured,

Are with her eagles flown.

And mute the Moorish horn that rang

O'er stream and mountain free;

And the hymn the leagued Crusaders sang

Hath died in Galilee.

But thou art swelling on, thou deep!

Through many an olden clime,

Thy billowy anthem, ne'er to sleep
Until the close of time.

Let there be silence, deep and strange,

Where sceptred cities rose!

Thou speakest of One who doth not change-
So may our hearts repose.

THE CHILD AND DOVE.

SUGGESTED BY CHANTREY'S STATUE OF LADY LOUISA RUSSELL.

THOU art a thing on our dreams to rise,
Midst the echoes of long-lost melodies,

And to fling bright dew from the morning back,
Fair form! on each image of childhood's track.

Thou art a thing to recall the hours

When the love of our souls was on leaves and flowers,
When a world was our own in some dim sweet grove,
And treasure untold in one captive dove.

Are they gone? can we think it while thou art there,
Thou joyous child with the clustering hair?

Is it not spring that indeed breathes free

And fresh o'er each thought, while we gaze on thee?

No! never more may we smile as thou
Sheddest round smiles from thy sunny brow;
Yet something it is, in our hearts to shrine
A memory of beauty undimmed as thine-

To have met the joy of thy speaking face,
To have felt the spell of thy breezy grace,

To have lingered before thee, and turned, and borne
One vision away of the cloudless morn.

A DIRGE.

CALM on the bosom of thy God,
Young spirit, rest thee now!

Even while with us thy footstep 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.

Lone are the paths, and sad the bowers,
Whence thy meek smile is gone ;
But oh!-a brighter home than ours,
In heaven is now thine own.

SCENE IN A DALECARLIAN MINE.

Oh! fondly, fervently, those two had loved,
Had mingled minds in Love's own perfect trust;
Had watched bright sunsets, dreamt of blissful years;
-And thus they met."

"HASTE, with your torches, haste! make firelight round!"
They speed, they press: what hath the miner found?
Relic or treasure-giant sword of old?

Gems bedded deep-rich veins of burning gold?
-Not so-the dead, the dead! An awe-struck band
In silence gathering round the silent stand,
Chained by one feeling, hushing e'en their breath,
Before the thing that, in the might of death,
Fearful, yet beautiful, amidst them lay-
A sleeper, dreaming not!-a youth with hair
Making a sunny gleam (how sadly fair!)
O'er his cold brow: no shadow of decay

Had touched those pale, bright features-yet he wore
A mien of other days, a garb of yore.

Who could unfold that mystery? From the throng
A woman wildly broke; her eye was dim,
As if through many tears, through vigils long,
Through weary strainings :—all had been for him!
Those two had loved! And there he lay, the dead,
In his youth's flower-and she, the living, stood
With her gray hair, whence hue and gloss had fled-
And wasted form, and cheek, whose flushing blood
Had long since ebbed-a meeting sad and strange!
-Oh! are not meetings in this world of change
Sadder than partings oft! She stood there, still,
And mute, and gazing-all her soul to fill
With the loved face once more-the young, fair face,
Midst that rude cavern, touched with sculpture's grace,
By torchlight and by death: until at last

From her deep. heart the spirit of the past

Gushed in low broken tones-" And there thou art!
And thus we meet, that loved, and did but part