THE SISTER'S DREAM.

"By the holy instinct of my heart,
By the hope that bears me on,
I have still my own undying part
In the deep affection gone.

"By the presence that about me seems
Through night and day to dwell,
Voice of vain bodings and fearful dreams!
-I have breathed no last farewell!”

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THE SISTER'S DREAM.

Suggested by a picture, in which a young girl is represented as sleeping, and visited during her slumbers by the spirits of her departed sisters.

SHE sleeps! but not the free and sunny sleep

That lightly on the brow of childhood lies:
Though happy be her rest, and soft, and deep,
Yet, ere it sunk upon her shadow'd eyes,
Thoughts of past scenes and kindred graves o'erswept
Her soul's meek stillness-she had pray'd and wept.

And now in visions to her couch they come,
The early lost-the beautiful-the dead-
That unto her bequeath'd a mournful home,
Whence with their voices all sweet laughter fled;
They rise the sisters of her youth arise,
As from the world where no frail blossom dies.

And well the sleeper knows them not of earth— Not as they were when binding up the flowers, VOL. VI.

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Telling wild legends round the winter-hearth,
Braiding their long fair hair for festal hours;
These things are past—a spiritual gleam,
A solemn glory, robes them in that dream.

Yet, if the glee of life's fresh budding years

In those pure aspects may no more be read, Thence, too, hath sorrow melted-and the tears Which o'er their mother's holy dust they shed, Are all effaced; there earth hath left no sign Save its deep love, still touching every line.

But, oh! more soft, more tender, breathing more A thought of pity, than in vanish'd days: While, hovering silently and brightly o'er

The lone one's head, they meet her spirit's gaze With their immortal eyes, that seem to say, "Yet, sister, yet we love thee-come away!"

'Twill fade, the radiant dream! and will she not Wake with more painful yearning at her heart? Will not her home seem yet a lonelier spot,

Her task more sad, when those bright shadows part? And the green summer after them look dim, And sorrow's tone be in the bird's wild hymn?

But let her hope be strong, and let the dead
Visit her soul in heaven's calm beauty still,
Be their names utter'd, be their memory spread
Yet round the place they never more may fill!
All is not over with earth's broken tie

Where, where should sisters love, if not on high?

A FAREWELL TO ABBOTSFORD.

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A FAREWELL TO ABBOTSFORD.

These lines were given to Sir Walter Scott, at the gate of Abbotsford, in the summer of 1829. He was then apparently in the vigour of an existence whose energies promised long continuance; and the glance of his quick, smiling eye, and the very sound of his kindly voice, seemed to kindle the gladness of his own sunny and benignant spirit in all who had the happiness of approaching him.

HOME of the gifted! fare thee well,
And a blessing on thee rest;

While the heather waves its purple bell
O'er moor and mountain crest;

While stream to stream around thee calls

And braes with broom are drest,

Glad be the harping in thy halls-
A blessing on thee rest!

While the high voice from thee sent forth
Bids rock and cairn reply,
Wakening the spirits of the North,

Like a chieftain's gathering cry;
While its deep master-tones hold sway
As a king's o'er every breast,
Home of the Legend and the Lay!
A blessing on thee rest!

Joy to thy hearth, and board, and bower!
Long honours to thy line!

And hearts of proof, and hands of power,
And bright names worthy thine!

By the merry step of childhood, still

May thy free sward be prest!

-While one proud pulse in the land can thrill, A blessing on thee rest!

O'CONNOR'S CHILD.

This piece was suggested by a picture in the possession of Mrs. Lawrence of Wavertree Hall.-It represents the "Hero's Child" of Campbell's Poem, seated beside a solitary tomb of rock, marked with a cross, in a wild and desert place. A tempest seems gathering in the angry skies above her, but the attitude of the drooping figure expresses the utter carelessness of desolation, and the countenance speaks of entire abstraction from all external objects. A bow and quiver lie beside her, amongst the weeds and wild-flowers of the desert.

"I fled the home of grief

At Connocht Moran's tomb to fall,
I found the helmet of my chief,

His bow still hanging on our wall;
And took it down, and vow'd to rove
This desert place a huntress bold:
Nor would I change my buried love
For any heart of living mould."

CAMPBELL.

THE sleep of storms is dark upon the skies.
The weight of omens heavy in the cloud:-
Bid the lorn huntress of the desert rise,

And gird the form whose beauty grief hath bow'd
And leave the tomb, as tombs are left-alone,
To the star's vigil, and the wind's wild moan.

O'CONNOR'S CHILD.

Tell her of revelries in bower and hall,

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Where gems are glittering, and bright wine is pour'd;

Where to glad measures chiming footsteps fall,

And soul seems gushing from the harp's full chord; And richer flowers amid fair tresses wave, Than the sad "Love lies bleeding" of the grave.

Oh! little know'st thou of the o'ermastering spell, Wherewith love binds the spirit strong in pain, To the spot hallow'd by a wild farewell,

A parting agony,-intense, yet vain,

A look and darkness when its gleam hath flown, A voice-and silence when its words are gone!

She hears thee not; her full, deep, fervent heart Is set in her dark eyes;—and they are bound Unto that cross, that shrine, that world apart,

Where faithful blood hath sanctified the ground; And love with death striven long by tear and prayer, And anguish frozen into still despair.

Yet on her spirit hath arisen at last

A light, a joy, of its own wanderings born; Around her path a vision's glow is cast,

Back, back her lost one comes in hues of morn!1 For her the gulf is fill'd-the dark night fled, Whose mystery parts the living and the dead.

1 "A son of light, a lovely form,
He comes, and makes her glad."

CAMPBELL.