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The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, Who make in their dwelling a transient abode, Be scattered around and together be laid ; Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage And the young and the old, and the low and the road.
high, Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie. Yea ! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,
We mingle together in sunshine and rain ; The infant a mother attended and loved,
And the smiles and the tears, the song and the The mother that infant's affection who proved ;
dirge, The husband that mother and infant who blessed, Still follow each other, like surge upon surge. Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest. The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in Tisthe wink of an eye, 'tisthe draught of a breath,
From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,
From the gilded saloon to the bierand the shroud, Shone beauty and pleasure, -hertriumphs are by ; And the memory of those who loved herand praised,
0, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? Are alike from the minds of the living erased.
The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne ;
ELEGY ON THE COUNTESS OF ABINGDON.
The peasant, whose lot was to sow and to reap ; Yo single virtue we could most commend, The herdsman, who climbed with his goats up the Whether the wife, the mother, or the friend ; steep;
For she was all, in that supreme degree, The beggar, who wandered in search of his bread, That as no one prevailed, so all was she. Have faded away like the grass that we tread. The several parts lay hidden in the piece ;
The occasion but exerted that, or this. The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven,
A wife as tender, and as true withal, The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven, As the first woman was before her fall : The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, Made for the man, of whom she was a jart; Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.
Madle to attract his eyes, and keep his heart.
A second Eve, but by no crime accursed ; So the multitude goes, like the flowers or the weed
As beauteous, not as brittle, as the first. That withers away to let others succeed ;
Had she been first, still Paradise had been, So the multitude comes, even those we behold,
And death had found no entrance by her sin. To repeat every tale that has often been told.
So she not only had preserved from ill
Her sex and ours, but lived their pattern still. For we are the same our fathers have been ;
Love and obedience to her lord she bore ; We see the same sights our fathers have seen, We drink the same stream and view the same sun, Not awed to duty by superior sway,
She much obeyed him, but she loved him more : Aud run the same course our fathers have run.
But taught by his indulgence to obey. The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would Thus we love God, as author of our good. think ;
Yet unemployed no minute slipped away ; From the death we are shrinking our fathers would
Moments were precious in so short a stay. shrink,
The haste of Heaven to have her was so great To the life we are clinging they also would cling ; But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing:
That some were single acts, though each complete ;
But every act stood ready to repeat. They loved, but the story we cannot unfold ;
Her fellow-saints with busy care will look They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold; For her blest name in fate's eternal book ; They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers: And, pleased to be outdone, with joy will see will come ;
Numberless virtues, endless charity : They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is But more will wonder at so short an age, dumb.
To find a blank beyond the thirtieth page :
And with a pious fear begin to doubt They died, ay ! they died: and we things that The piece imperfect, and the rest torn out. are now,
But 't was her Saviour's time ; and could thero be Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow, A copy near the original, 't was she.
Is precious gums are not for lasting fire, The young village maid, when with flowers she They but pertune the teinple, and expire ;
dresses So was she soon exhaled, and vanished hence, - Her dark-flowing hair for some festival day, A short sweet odor, of a vast expense.
Will think of thy fate till, neglecting her tresses, She vanished, we can scarcely say she died; She mournfully turns from the mirror away. For but a now did heaven and earth divide : She passed serenely with a single breath ;
Nor shall Iran, beloved of her hero! forget thee, This moment perfect health, the next was death:
Though tyrants watch over her tears as they One sigh did her eternal bliss assure;
start, So little penance needs, when souls are almost pure. Close, close by the side of that hero she 'll set thee, As gentle dreams our waking thoughts pursue ;
Embalmed in the innermost shrine of her heart. Or, one dream passed, we slide into a new;
Farewell ! — be it ours to embellish thy pillow So close they follow, such wild order keep,
With everything beauteous that grows in the We think ourselves awake, and are asleep :
deep; So softly death succeeded life in her : She did but dream of heaven, and she was there. Each flower of the rock and each gem of the billow
Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep. No pains she suffered, nor expired with noise ; Her soul was whispered out with God's still voice; Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber Is an old friend is beckoned to a feast,
That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept ; And treated like a long-familiar guest.
With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreathed He took her as he found, but found her so,
chamber, As one in hourly readiness to go:
We, Peris of ocean, by moonlight have slept. Een on that day, in all her trim prepared ; As early notice she from heaven had heard, We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling, And some descending courier from above
And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head ; Had given her timely warning to remove ; We 'll seek where the sands of the Caspian are Or counselled her to dress the nuptial room,
sparkling, For on that night the bridegroom was to come. And gather their gold to strew over thy bed. He kept his hour, and found her where she lay Clothed all in white, the livery of the day. Farewell! - farewell !. - until pity's sweet foun
tain Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave,
They 'll weep for the Chieftain who died on that FAREWELL TO THEE, ARABY'S
They 'll weep for the Maiden who sleeps in the FROM "THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.' FAREWELL, — farewell to thee, Araby's daughter!
(Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea ;) No pearl ever lay under Oman's green water
More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee. FAIR HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL. O, fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing, " A lady of the name of Helen Irving or Bell (for this is disputed
by the two clans), (laughter of the laird of Kirkconnell, in Dumfries. How light was thy heart till love's witchery shire, and celebrated for her beauty, was beloved by two gentle.
men in the neighborhood. The name of the favored suitor was Like the wind of the south o'er a summer lute Adam Fleming of Kirkpatrick ; that of the other has escaped tra
dition, although it has been alleged that he was blowing,
Blacket House. The addresses of the latter were, however, favored And hushed all its music and withered its frame! by the friends of the lady, and the lovers were therefore obliged to
meet in secret, and by night, in the churchyard of Kirkconnell, a
romantic spot surrounded by the river Kirtle. During one of these But long, upon Araby's green sunny highlands, private interviews, the jealous and despised lover suddenly ap
Shall maids and their lovers remember thegloom peared on the opposite bank of the streain, and levelled his Of her who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands, lover, received in her bosom the bullet, and died in his arms. A With nanght but the sea-star to light up her desperate and mortal combat ensued between Fleming and the
inurderer, in which the latter was cut to pieces. Other accounts tomb.
say that Fleming pursued his enemy to Spain, and slew him in the
streets of Madrid." -- SIR WALTER SCOTT.) And still, when the merry date-season is burning, And calls to the palm-groves the young and the I wish I were where Helen lies! old,
Vight and day on me she cries; The happiest there, from their pastime returning O that I were where Helen lies, At sunset, will weep when thy story is told.
On fair Kirkconnell lee !
a Bell of
carabine at the breast of his rival.
Helen threw herself before her
Curst be the heart that thought the thought, A poacher's widow sat sighing
On the side of the white chalk bank,
One spot in the lea throve rank.