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, Tell her my heart within me burns Once more that gaze to meet And tell our white-hair'd father, And tell our gentle mother, Happy thou art that soon, how soon, Our good and bright will see!Oh! brother, brother! may I dwell, Erelong, with them and thee! 59 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 'Tis where I, too, am loved with love undying, Ask where the earth's departed have their dwelling; And what is home, and where, but with the loving? Go to thy home, rejoicing son and brother! 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 My soul's last earthly breathings!-May your home Your lives in one bright bond!—I may not sleep Where shame hath never trod :—the dark night falls, THE IMAGE IN THE HEART. And I depart.-The brave are gone to rest, 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. That they whom death has hidden from our sight, Mortality's last exercise and proof Is undergone." WORDSWORTH. "The love where death has set his seal, Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, 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, |