We hallow e'en the lyre they touched, we love the lay

they sung, We pass with softer steps the place they filled our band

among ! But I depart, like sound, like dew, like aught that leaves

on earth No trace of sorrow or delight, no memory of its birth ! I go !—the echo of the rock a thousand songs may swell, When mine is a forgotten voice.Woods, mountains, home,

farewell !

And farewell, mother! I have borne in lonely silence long, But now the current of my soul grows passionate and strong ; And I will speak ! though but the wind that wanders

through the sky, And but the dark deep-rustling pines, and rolling streams

reply, Yes! I will speak ! within my breast whate'er hath seemed

to be, There lay a hidden fount of love, that would have gushed

for thee! Brightly it would have gushed, but thou--my mother !

thou hast thrown Back on the forests and the wilds what should have been

thine own.

Mrs Hemans.

His soul was overcharged with grief,

And yet he could not could not weep, Or shed one tear-whose kind relief

Might soothe his throbbing heart to sleep. No more his eyes can overflow

As once they could when he was sad, Or shed—'twas ecstacy of woe

Those tears which make the mourner glad.

Then grief could weep itself away,

And sorrow sob itself to rest;
But not one tear will now allay

The aching of that weary breast.
Be still—be still thou throbbing heart,

And calm that beating pulse of thine !
Oh that one soothing tear would start

To vent the sorrow pent within !

Anon. ON SEEING THE DEAD BODY OF A YOUNG

LADY.

1.

If I had thought thou could'st have died,

I might not weep for thee ;
But I forgot, when by thy side,

That thou could'st mortal be:
It never through my mind had past,

The time would e'er be o'er,
And I on thee should look

my

last, And thou should'st smile no more!

11.

And still upon that face I look,

And think 'twill smile again ;
And still the thought I will not brook,

That I must look in vain !
But when I speak—thou dost not say,

What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ;
And now I feel, as well I

may,
Sweet Mary! thou art dead!

III.
If thou would'st stay, e'en as thou art,

All cold, and all serenem
I still might press thy silent heart,

And where thy smiles have been !
While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have,

Thou seemest still mine own; But there I lay thee in thy grave

And I am now alone !

IV.

I do not think, where'er thou art,

Thou hast forgotten me;
And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart,

In thinking too of thee:
Yet there was round thee such a dawn

Of light ne'er seen before,
As fancy never could have drawn,
And never can restore !

Rev. C. Wolfe.

THE MINSTREL BOY.

The Minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him;

His father's sword he has girded on,
And his wild barp slung behind bim.
• Land of song,' said the warrior bard,

Though all the world forsake thee,
One sword at least thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee.'

6

The minstrel fell—but the foeman's chain
Could not bring bis proud soul under;
The harp, he loved, ne'er spake again,
For he tore its chords asunder;
And said No chain shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and bravery;
Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They never shall sound in slavery!'

Moore.

TO A YOUNG LADY ON HER RETURN

FROM A SEA VOYAGE.

They who have marked the blooming rose

From some loved features daily fade, And spite of tenderness disclose,

Each morning, but a fainter shade,