Her Sweet Edith, no! my heart

Will fail no more; God bears me up through thee,
And, by thy words, and by the heavenly light
Shining around thee, through thy very tears,
Will yet sustain me! Let us call on him!
Let us kneel down, as we have knelt so oft,
Thy pure cheek touching mine, and call on Him,
Th' all-pitying One, to aid.

O, look on us,

Father above! in tender mercy look

[They kneel.

On us, thy children! through th' o'ershadowing cloud
Of sorrow and mortality, send aid-

Save or we perish! We would pour our lives

Forth as a joyous offering to thy truth,

But we are weak-we, the bruised reeds of earth,
Are sway'd by every gust. Forgive, O God!
The blindness of our passionate desires,

The fainting of our hearts, the lingering thoughts,
Which cleave to dust! Forgive the strife; accept
The sacrifice, though dim with mortal tears,
From mortal pangs wrung forth! And if our souls,
In all the fervent dreams, the fond excess,

Of their long-clasping love, have wander'd not,
Holiest! from thee; oh! take them to thyself,
After the fiery trial, take them home

To dwell, in that imperishable bond

Before thee link'd for ever. Hear, through Him
Who meekly drank the cup of agony,

Who pass'd through death to victory, hear and save!
Pity us, Father! we are girt with snares;

Father in Heaven! we have no help but thee.

Is thy soul strengthen'd, my beloved one?

O Edith! couldst thou lift up thy sweet voice,
And sing me that old solemn-breathing hymn
We loved in happier days-the strain which tells
Of the dread conflict in the olive shade?

He knelt, the Saviour knelt and pray'd,
When but his Father's eye

Look'd through the lonely garden's shade
On that dread agony;

The Lord of All above, beneath,

Was bow'd with sorrow unto death.

The sun set in a fearful hour,

The stars might well

grow dim,

When this mortality had power

So to o'ershadow HIM!

That he who gave man's breath, might know

The very depths of human woe.

He proved them all!-the doubt, the strife,

The faint perplexing dread,

[They rise.

[She sings.

FLOWERS AND MUSIC, ETC.

The mists that hang o'er parting life,
All gather'd round his head;
And the Deliverer knelt to pray-
Yet pass'd it not, that cup, away!

It pass'd not-though the stormy wave
Had sunk beneath his tread;

It pass'd not-though to him the grave
Had yielded up its dead.

But there was sent him from on high
A gift of strength for man to die.

And was the sinless thus beset
With anguish and dismay?
How may we meet our conflict yet,
In the dark narrow way?

Through Him-through Him, that path who trod-
Save, or we perish, Son of God!

Hark, hark! the parting signal.

[Prison attendants enter.

Fare-thee-well!

O thou unutterably loved, farewell!
Let our hearts bow to God!

Her.

On earth the last!-We have eternity

One last embrace.

[She is led out.

For love's communion yet!-Farewell-farewell!

"Tis o'er-the bitterness of death is past!

445

FLOWERS AND MUSIC IN A ROOM OF SICKNESS.

"Once when I look'd along the laughing earth,
Up the blue heavens, and through the middle air,
Joyfully ringing with the skylark's song,

I wept! and thought how sad for one so young

To bid farewell to so much happiness.

But Christ hath call'd me from this lower world,
Delightful though it be."

Wilson.

Apartment in an English Country-House.-LILLIAN reclining, as sleeping on a couch. Her Mother watching beside

her. Her Sister enters with flowers.

Mother. Hush, lightly tread! still tranquilly she sleeps,

As, when a babe, I rock'd her on my heart.

I've watch'd, suspending e'en my breath, in fear

To break the heavenly spell. Move silently!

And oh! those flowers! dear Jessy, bear them hence—
Dost thou forget the passion of quick tears

That shook her trembling frame, when last we brought
The roses to her couch? Dost thou not know
What sudden longings for the woods and hills,
Where once her free steps moved so buoyantly,
Vol. II.--38

These leaves and odors with strange influence wake
In her fast-kindled soul?

Jessy.

Oh! she would pine,
Were the wild scents and glowing hues withheld,
Mother! far more than now her spirit yearns
For the blue sky, the singing-birds and brooks,
And swell of breathing turf, whose lightsome spring
'Their blooms recall.

Lilian, (raising herself.) Is that my Jessy's voice?
It woke me not, sweet mother! I had lain

Silently, visited by waking dreams,

Yet conscious of thy brooding watchfulness,

Long ere I heard the sound. Hath she brought flowers?
Nay, fear not now thy fond child's waywardness,
My thoughtful mother!-In her chasten'd soul
The passion-color'd images of 'life,

Which, with their sudden startling flush awoke
So oft those burning tears, have died away:
And night is there still, solemn, holy night,
With all her stars, and with the gentle tune
Of many fountains low and musical,
By day unheard.

Mother. And wherefore night, my child?
Thou art a creature all of life and dawn,
And from thy couch of sickness yet shalt rise,
And walk forth with the dayspring,
Lilian.
Hope it not!
Dream it no more, my mother!-there are things
Known but to God, and to the parting soul,

Which feels his thrilling summons.

But my words

Too much o'ershadow those kind loving eyes.
Bring me thy flowers, dear Jessy? Ah! thy step,
Well do I see, hath not alone explored

The garden bowers, but freely visited

Our wilder haunts. This foam-like meadow-sweet
Is from the cool green shadowy river nook,

Where the stream chimes around th' old mossy stones
With sounds like childhood's laughter. Is that spot
Lovely as when our glad eyes hail'd it first?
Still doth the golden willow bend, and sweep
The clear brown wave with every passing wind?
And through the shallower waters, where they lie
Dimpling in light, do the vein'd pebbles gleam
Like bedded gems? And the white butterflies,
From shade to sun-streak are they glancing still
Among the poplar boughs?

All, all is there

Jessy.
Which glad midsummer's wealthiest hours can bring;
All, save the soul of all, thy lightening smile!
Therefore I stood in sadness 'midst the leaves,
And caught an under-music of lament

IN A ROOM OF SICKNESS.

In the stream's voice; but Nature waits thee still,
And for thy coming piles a fairy throne

Of richest moss.

Lilian

Alas! it may not be !

My soul hath sent her farewell voicelessly,

To all these blessed haunts of song and thought;
Yet not the less I love to look on these,

Their dear memorials ;-strew them o'er my couch
Till it grow like a forest bank in spring,
All flush'd with violets and anemones.
Ah! the pale brier rose! touch'd so tenderly,
As a pure ocean shell, with faintest red,
Melting away to pearliness!-I know
How its long light festoons o'erarching hung
From the grey rock, that rises altar-like,
With its high waving crown of mountain ash
'Midst the lone grassy dell. And this rich bough
Of honey'd woodbine, tells me of the oak
Whose deep midsummer gloom sleeps heavily,
Shedding a verdurous twilight o'er the face
Of the glade's pool. Methinks I see it now;
I look up through the stirring of its leaves
Unto the intense blue crystal firmament.
The ringdove's wing is flitting o'er my head,
Casting at times a silvery shadow down
'Midst the large water-lilies. Beautiful!
How beautifull is all this fair free world
Under God's open sky!

Mother.

Thou art o'erwrought Once more, my child! The dewy trembling light Presaging tears, again is in thine eye.

O hush, dear Lilian! turn thee to repose.

Lilian. Mother! I cannot. In my soul the thoughts Burn with too subtle and too swift a fire;

Importunately to my lips they throng,

And with their earthly kindred seek to blend

Ere the veil drop between. When I am gone-
(For I must go)-then the remember'd words
Wherein these wild imaginings flow forth,
Will to thy fond heart be as amulets

Held there with life and love. And weep not thus
Mother! dear sister! kindest, gentlest ones!
Be comforted that now I weep no more
For the glad earth and all the golden light
Whence I depart.

No! God hath purified my spirit's eye,
And in the folds of this consummate rose
I read bright prophesies. I see not there,
Dimly and mournfully, the word "farewell"
On the rich petals traced: No-in soft veins
And characters of beauty, I can read-
"Look up, look heavenward!"

447

Blessed God of Love

I thank thee for these gifts, the precious links
Whereby my spirit unto thee is drawn!

I thank thee that the loveliness of earth
Higher than earth can raise me! Are not these
But germs of things unperishing, that bloom
Beside th' immortal streams? Shall I not find
The lily of the field, the Saviour's flower,
In the serene and never-moaning air,
And the clear starry light of angel eyes,
A thousand fold more glorious? Richer far
Will not the violet's dusky purple glow,

When it hath ne'er been press'd to broken hearts
A record of lost love?

Mother.

My Lilian! thou Surely in thy bright life hast little known Of lost things or of changed!

Oh! little yet,

Lilian.
For thou hast been my shield; But had it been
My lot on this world's billows to be thrown

Without thy love-O mother! there are hearts
So perilously fashion'd, that for them

God's touch alone hath gentleness enough

To waken, and not break, their thrilling strings!—
We will not speak of this!

By what strange spell
Is it, that ever, when I gaze on flowers,
I dream of music? Something in their hues
All melting into color'd harmonies,

Wafts a swift thought of interwoven chords,
Of blended singing tones, that swell and die
In tenderest falls away.-O, bring thy harp,

Sister! a gentle heaviness at last

Hath touch'd mine eyelids; sing to me, and sleep

Will come again.

Jessy. What would'st thou hear? The Italian peasant's lay Which makes the desolate Campagna ring

With "Roma, Roma?" or the madrigal

Warbled on moonlight seas of Sicily?

Or the old ditty left by Troubadours

To girls of Languedoc?

Lilian.

Oh, no! not these.

Jessy. What then? the Moorish melody still known

Within the Alhambra city? or those notes

Born of the Alps, which pierce the exile's heart

Even unto death?

Lilian.

No, sister, nor yet these

Too much of dreamy love, of faint regret,
Of passionately fond remembrance, breathes

In the caressing sweetness of their tones,

For one who dies;-They would but woo me back

To glowing life with those Arcadian sounds