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THE MESSAGE TO THE DEAD.

That yet my gushing soul is fill'd

With lays she loved to sing.

Her soft, deep eyes look through my dreams,
Tender and sadly sweet;—

Tell her my heart within me burns

Once more that gaze to meet

And tell our white-hair'd father,
That in the paths he trode,
The child he loved, the last on earth,
Yet walks and worships God.
Say, that his last fond blessing yer
Rests on my soul like dew,
And by its hallowing might I trust
Once more his face to view.

And tell our gentle mother,
That on her grave I pour
The sorrows of my spirit forth,
As on her breast of yore.

Happy thou art that soon, how soon,

Our good and bright will see!Oh! brother, brother! may I dwell, Erelong, with them and thee!

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In their dark richness, to the summer air,

Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks laving,

Leads down the hills a vein of light,—'tis there!

'Midst those green wilds how many a fount lies gleaming,

Fringed with the violet, colour'd with the skies! My boyhood's haunt, through days of summer dreaming,

Under young leaves that shook with melodies.

My home! the spirit of its love is breathing

In

every wind that plays across my track; From its white walls the very tendrils wreathing, Seem with soft links to draw the wanderer back.

There am I loved-there pray'd for there my mother

Sits by the hearth with meekly thoughtful eye; There my young sisters watch to greet their brother -Soon their glad footsteps down the path will fly.

There, in sweet strains of kindred music blending, All the home-voices meet at day's decline;

THE SOLDIER'S DEATHBEd. . 61

One are those tones, as from one heart ascending,— There laughs my home-sad stranger! where is thine?

'tis lying,

Ask'st thou of mine ?-In solemn peace
Far o'er the deserts and the tombs away;

'Tis where I, too, am loved with love undying,
And fond hearts wait my step-But where are they?

Ask where the earth's departed have their dwelling;
Ask of the clouds, the stars, the trackless air!
I know it not, yet trust the whisper, telling
My lonely heart, that love unchanged is there.

And what is home, and where, but with the loving?
Happy thou art, that so canst gaze on thine!
My spirit feels but, in its weary roving,
That with the dead, where'er they be, is mine,

Go to thy home, rejoicing son and brother!
Bear in fresh gladness to the household scene!
For me, too, watch the sister and the mother,
I well believe-but dark seas roll between.

THE SOLDIER'S DEATHBED.

"Wie herrlich die Sonne dort untergeht! da ich noch ein Bube war -war's mein Lieblingsgedanke, wie sie zu leben, wie sie zu sterben!' DIE RAUBER.

LIKE thee to die, thou sun!-My boyhood's dream Was this; and now my spirit, with thy beam,

Ebbs from a field of victory!-yet the hour
Bears back upon me, with a torrent's power,
Nature's deep longings:-Oh! for some kind eye,
Wherein to meet love's fervent farewell gaze;
Some breast to pillow life's last agony,
Some voice, to speak of hope and brighter days,
Beyond the pass of shadows!—But I go,
I that have been so loved, go hence alone;
And ye, now gathering round my own hearth's glow,
Sweet friends! it may be that a softer tone,
Even in this moment, with your laughing glee,
Mingles its cadence while you speak of me :
Of me, your soldier, 'midst the mountains lying,
On the red banner of his battles dying,
Far, far away!—and oh! your parting prayer-
Will not his name be fondly murmur'd there?
It will!-A blessing on that holy hearth!
Though clouds are darkening to o'ercast its mirth.
Mother! I may not hear thy voice again;
Sisters! ye watch to greet my step in vain;
Young brother, fare thee well!-on each dear head
Blessing and love a thousandfold be shed,

My soul's last earthly breathings!-May your home
Smile for you ever!—May no winter come,
No world, between your hearts! May ev'n your tears,
For my sake, full of long-remember'd years,
Quicken the true affections that entwine

Your lives in one bright bond!—I may not sleep
Amidst our fathers, where those tears might shine
Over my slumbers; yet your love will keep
My memory living in the ancestral halls,

Where shame hath never trod :—the dark night falls,

THE IMAGE IN THE HEART.

And I depart.-The brave are gone to rest,
The brothers of my combats, on the breast
Of the red field they reap'd:

63.

their work is doneThou, too, art set!-farewell, farewell, thou sun!

The last lone watcher of the bloody sod,

Offers a trusting spirit up to God.

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That they whom death has hidden from our sight,
Are worthiest of the mind's regard; with them
The future cannot contradict the past-

Mortality's last exercise and proof

Is undergone."

WORDSWORTH.

"The love where death has set his seal,

Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
Nor falsehood disavow."

BYRON.

I CALL thee bless'd!-though now the voice be fled, Which, to thy soul, brought dayspring with its tone, And o'er the gentle eyes though dust be spread, Eyes that ne'er look'd on thine but light was thrown Far through thy breast:

And though the music of thy life be broken,
Or changed in every chord, since he is gone,
Feeling all this, even yet, by many a token,
O thou, the deeply, but the brightly lone!
I call thee bless'd!

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