NE more unfortunate

Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!
Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly-
Young, and so fair!

Look at her garments,
Clinging like cerements,
Whilst the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing:
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing!

Touch her not scornfully!
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly-
Not of the stains of her:
All that remains of her

Now is pure womanly.
Make no deep scrutiny,
Into her mutiny,

Rash and undutiful;

Past all dishonor,

Death has left on her

Only the beautiful.

Still, for all slips of hers

One of Eve's familyWipe those poor lips of hers,

Oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses

Escaped from the comb— Her fair auburn tressesWhilst wonderment guesses, Where was her home?

Who was her father?

Who was her mother?
Had she a sister?

Had she a brother?

Or was there a dearer ong Still, and a nearer one

Yet, than all other?

Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity

Under the sun!
Oh, it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none.

Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly

Feelings had changed-
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence.
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged.
Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,

With many a light

From window and casement, From garret to basement, She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night.

The bleak wind of March

Made her tremble and shiver

But not the dark arch,

Or the black, flowing river;

Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery,
Swift to be hurled-
Anywhere, anywhere
Gut of the world!

In she plunged boldlyNo matter how coldly

The rough river ranOver the brink of it! Picture it-think of it, Dissolute man! Lave in it drink of it Then, if you can!

Take her up tenderly,

Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

Ere her limbs, frigidly,
Stiffen too rigidly,

Decently, kindly,

Smooth and compose them,

And her eyes, close thein,

Staring so blindly —

12

Dreadfully staring

Through muddy impurity,

As when with the daring
Last look of despairing
Fixed on futurity.

Perishing gloomily,
Spurred by contumely,
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,

Into her rest!

Cross her hands humbly
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast!
Owning her weakness,

Her evil behavior,

And leaving, with meekness,

Her sins to her Saviour!

THOMAS HOOD.

THE SEXTON.

IGH to a grave that was newly made

Leaned a sexton old on his earth-worn spade;
His work was done and he paused to wait
The funeral-train at the open gate.

A relic of by-gone days was he,

And his locks were gray as the foamy sea;
And these words came from his lips so thin:

"I gather them in-I gather them in-
Gather-gather-I gather them in.

"I gather them in; for man and boy,
Year after year of grief and joy,

I've builded the houses that lie around
In every nook of this burial-ground.
Mother and daughter, father and son,
Come to my solitude one by one;
But come they stranger, or come they kin,
I gather them in-I gather them in.

"Many are with me, yet I'm alone;

I'm king of the dead, and I make my throne
On a monument slab of marble cold-

My sceptre of rule is the spade I hold.

Come they from cottage, or come they from hall,
Mankind are my subjects, all, all, all!
May they loiter in pleasure, or toilfully spin,
I gather them in-I gather them in.

"I gather them in, and their final rest

Is here, down here, in the earth's dark breast."
And the sexton ceased as the funeral-train
Wound mutely over that solemn plain;
And I said to myself: When time is told,
A mightier voice than that sexton's old,
Will be heard o'er the last trump's dreadful din,
"I gather them in-I gather them in--
Gather-gather-gather them in."

PARK BENJAMIN.

66

GOOD-BYE.

AREWELL! farewell!" is often heard
From the lips of those who part:
'Tis a whispered tone-'t is a gentle word,
But it springs not from the heart.
It may serve for the lover's closing lay
To be sung 'neath a summer sky;
But give to me the lips that say

The honest words, "Good-bye!"
"Adieu! adieu!" may greet the ear,
In the guise of courtly speech :
But when we leave the kind and dear,
'T is not what the soul would teach.
Whene'er we grasp the hands of those
We would have forever nigh,
The flame of friendship bursts and glows
In the warm, frank words, "Good-bye."

The mother, sending forth her child
To meet with cares and strife,

Breathes through her tears her doubts and fears
For the loved one's future life.

No cold "adieu," no "farewell," lives
Within her choking sigh,

But the deepest sob of anguish gives,
"God bless thee, boy! Good-bye!"

Go, watch the pale and dying one,

When the glance has lost its beam;
When the brow is cold as the marble stone,
And the world a passing dream;
And the latest pressure of the hand,
The look of the closing eye,

Yield what the heart must understand
A long, a last Good-bye.