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.

THE TEARLESS EYE.

His soul was overcharged with grief,
And
yet
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.

he could not-could not weep,

Then grief could
itself away,
weep
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.

I.

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 serene-
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 harp slung behind him.
'Land of song,' said the warrior bard,

6

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

The minstrel fell-but the foeman's chain
Could not bring his proud soul under;
The harp, he loved, ne'er spake again,
For he tore its chords asunder;

And said
Thou soul of love and bravery;

Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They never shall sound in slavery !'

No chain shall sully thee,

They who have marked the blooming rose
From some loved features daily fade,
And spite of tenderness disclose,

Each morning, but a fainter shade,

Moore.

TO A YOUNG LADY ON HER RETURN FROM A SEA VOYAGE.