Qur voice, which thrilled you so, will let So tired, so tired, my heart and I! "Dear Love, you 're looking tired," he said; So tired, so tired, my heart and I! Though now none takes me on his arm Tired out we are, my heart and I. Yet, who complains? My heart and I? ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. ROSALIE WHEN thou, in all thy loveliness, Sweet Rosalie, wert mine, Of Earth's one more, of Heaven's one less, I counted things divine. But since the lilies o'er thy breast Out of the sweetness spring, Of love's delight I miss the rest And keep alone the sting. Till now I reckon things divine Not as I did before; Earth's share has dwindled down to mine, And Heaven has all the more. WILLIAM C. RICHARDS. REQUIESCAT TREAD lightly, she is near, Under the snow; Speak gently, she can hear All her bright golden hair She that was young and fair Lily-like, white as snow, Coffin-board, heavy stone, Lie on her breast; I vex my heart alone, She is at rest. THE OLD SEXTON NIGH to a grave that was newly made, Leaned a sexton old on his earth-worn spade; The funeral train at the open gate. A relic of by-gone days was he, And his locks were as white as the foamy sea; I gather them in Gather-gather-gather them in. "I gather them in; for man and boy, I've builded the houses that lie around Mother and daughter, father and son, But come they stranger, or come they kin, "Many are with me, yet I'm alone; "I gather them in, and their final rest Is here, down here, in the earth's dark breast!" Will be heard o'er the last trump's dreadful din : Gather gather gather them in." - PARK BENJAMIN. One year ago, what loves, what schemes What joyous hopes, what high resolves, The silent picture on the wall, Of all that beauty, life, and joy, The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray No pause or hush of merry birds Tells us how coldly sleeps below Where hast thou been this year, beloved? What visions fair, what glorious life, The veil the veil ! so thin, so strong! The mystic veil! when shall it fall, Not dead, not sleeping, not even gone, And waiting for the coming hour Lord of the living and the dead, We lay in silence at thy feet HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. BEFORE SEDAN HERE in this leafy place, Quiet he lies, Cold, with his sightless face Turned to the skies; Carry his body hence,- What was the white you touched, There at his side? Paper his hand had clutched Tight ere he died; HIGHLAND MARY YE banks, and braes, and streams around Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, And there the langest tarry; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, As underneath their fragrant shade Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow, and locked embrace, |