ELEGY AT THE GRAVE OF MY FATHER.

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Father, oh, when life's last drops are wasting,

Those dear drops which God's own earth are given, When my soul the pangs of death is tasting,

To my dying bed come down from heaven!

Let thy cooling palm wave freshly o'er me,
Sinking to the dark and silent tomb;
Let the awful vales be bright before me,
Where the flowers of resurrection bloom.

Then with thine my soul shall soar through heaven
With the same unfading glory blest;

For a home one star to us be given,
In the Father's bosom we shall rest.

Then bloom on, gay tufts of scented roses,
O'er his grave your sweetest fragrance shed,
And while here his sacred dust reposes,
Silence, reign around his lowly bed!

Life and Death.

FROM THE SWEDISH.

Ar morning I stood on the mountain's brow,
In its May wreath crowned, and there
Saw day rise in gold and in purple glow,
And I cried, "Oh Life, how fair!"

As the birds in the bowers their lay began,
When the dawning time was nigh,

So wakened for song in the breast of man
A passion heroic and high.

My spirit then felt the longing to soar
From home afar in its flight,

To roam, like the sun, still from shore to shore,
A creator of flowers and light.

At even I stood on the mountain's brow,
And, rapt in devotion and prayer,
Saw night rise in silver and purple glow,

And I cried, "Oh Death, how fair!"

THE LESSON OF A PARENT'S DEATH.

And when that the soft evening wind so meek,
With its balmy breathing came,

It seemed as though Nature then kissed my cheek
And tenderly sighed my name!

I saw the vast Heaven encompassing all,
Like children the stars to her came;
The exploits of man then seemed to me small,
Naught great save the Infinite's name.

Ah! how unheeded all charms which invest
The joys and the hopes that men prize,
While the eternal thoughts in the poet's breast,
Like stars in the heavens arise!

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The Lesson of a Parent's Death.

WILLIAM JAY.

THE death of a parent has been useful. His expiring change has never been forgotten. The thought of separation forever from one so loved and valued, has awakened in the son a salutary fear. Returning from a father's grave, he has met with God, saying, "Wilt thou not from this time cry unto me? My Father! thou art the guide of my youth!" And the death of the parent has proved the life of the child.

Farewell to my Friends.

CAROLINE BOWLES.

OH! wear no mourning weeds for me,
When I am laid i' the ground!
Oh! shed no tears for one whose sleep
Will then be sweet and sound!

Only, my friends! do this for me;
Pluck many a pale primrose,

And strew them on my shroud, before
The coffin lid they close.

And lay the heart's-ease on my breast
(Meet emblem there 'twill be),
And gently place in my cold hand
A sprig of rosemary.

And by the buried bones of those
When living I loved best,
See me at last laid quietly;

Then leave me to my rest.

FAREWELL TO MY FRIENDS.

And when the church-bell tolls for me,
Its last, long, hollow knell;

As the deep murmur dies away
Bid me a kind farewell.

And stay, methinks there's something yet

I'd fain request of ye;
Something, I'd bid ye comfort, keep,

Or love, for love of me.

My nurse! oh, she will only wait

Till I am fast asleep,

Then close beside me, stealthily,

To her own pillow creep.

My dog!

poor fellow! Let him not Know hunger, hardship, wrong;

But he is old and feeble too,

He will not miss me long.

My dwelling! that will pass away
To those, when I am gone,
Will raise the lowly edifice

To its foundation stone.

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