TO THE URSA MAJOR.

And Slavery forged his chains; and Wrath, and Hate,
And sordid Selfishness, and cruel Lust,

Leagued their base bands to tread out light and truth,
And scatter wo where Heaven had planted joy?

Or are they yet all paradise, unfallen

And uncorrupt? existence one long joy,
Without disease upon the frame, or sin

Upon the heart, or weariness of life-
Hope never quenched, and age unknown,

And death unfeared; while fresh and fadeless youth
Glows in the light from God's near throne of love?
Open your lips, ye wonderful and fair!

Speak, speak! the mysteries of those living worlds
Unfold!-No language? Everlasting light,
And everlasting silence?—Yet the eye

May read and understand. The hand of God
Has written legibly what man may know,
THE GLORY OF THE MAKER. There it shines,
Ineffable, unchangeable; and man,

Bound to the surface of this pigmy globe,

May know and ask no more. In other days,
When death shall give the encumbered spirit wings,
Its range shall be extended; it shall roam,
Perchance, amongst those vast mysterious spheres,
Shall pass from orb to orb, and dwell in each
Familiar with its children-learn their laws,
And share their state, and study and adore

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Shall thus roll on with ever fresh delight;

No pause of pleasure or improvement; world
On world still opening to the instructed mind
An unexhausted universe, and time

But adding to its glories. While the soul,
Advancing ever to the Source of light
And all perfection, lives, adores, and reigns
In cloudless knowledge, purity, and bliss.

WE ARE BUT TWO-the others sleep
Through death's untroubled night;

We are but two-O, let us keep
The link that binds us bright.

Heart leaps to heart-the sacred flood That warms us is the same;

That good old man-his honest blood Alike we fondly claim.

F**

In the same cradle we were rocked, Round the same hearth we played.

Our boyish sports were all the same,
Each little joy and wo;—

Let manhood keep alive the flame,
Lit up so long ago.

WE ARE BUT Two-be that the band

To hold us till we die;

Shoulder to shoulder let us stand,

Till side by side we lie.

SONNET.

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

My friend, adown Life's valley, hand in hand,
With grateful change of grave and merry speech
Or song, our hearts unlocking each to each,
We'll journey onward to the silent land;

And when stern Death shall loose that loving band,
Taking in his cold hand a hand of ours,

The one shall strew the other's grave with flowers,
Nor shall his heart a moment be unmanned.

My friend and brother! if thou goest first,
Wilt thou no more re-visit me below?

Yea, when my heart seems happy causelessly
And swells, not dreaming why, as it would burst
With joy unspeakable,-my soul shall know

That thou, unseen, art bending over me.