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THE TRAVELLER'S EVENING SONG,

Darkly waves each giant bough
O'er the sky's last crimson glow;
Hush'd is now the convent's bell,
Which erewhile with breezy swell
From the purple mountain bore
Greeting to the sunset-shore.
Now the sailor's vesper-hymn
Dies away.

Father! in the forest dim
Be my stay!

In the low and shivering thrill
Of the leaves that late hung still;
In the dull and muffled tone
Of the sea-wave's distant moan ;
In the deep tints of the sky
There are signs of tempests nigh.
Ominous, with sullen sound,
Falls the closing dusk around.
Father! through the storm and shade
Father! througe the wild,

Oh! be Thou the lone one's aid-
Save thy child!

Many a swift and sounding plume
Homewards, through the boding gloom,
O'er my way hath flitted fast,

Since the farewell sunbeam pass'd
From the chestnut's ruddy bark,
And the pools, now lone and dark,
Where the wakening night-winds sigh
Through the long reeds mournfully.
Homeward, homeward, all things haste-
God of might!

Shield the homeless 'midst the waste,
Be his light!

In his distant cradle nest,

Now my babe is laid to rest;
Beautiful his slumber seems
With a glow of heavenly dreams,
Beautiful, o'er that bright sleep,
Hang soft eyes of fondness deep,
Where his mother bends to pray
For the loved and far away.-
Father, guard that household bower,
Hear that prayer!

Back, through thine all-guiding power,
Lead me there!

Darker, wilder, grows the night,
Not a star sends quivering light
Through the massy arch of shade
By the stern old forest made.

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'Thou! to whose unslumbering eyes
All my pathway open lies,
By thy Son who knew distress
In the lonely wilderness,

Where no roof to that bless'd head
Shelter gave-.

Father! through the time of dread,
Save-oh, save!

BURIAL OF AN EMIGRANT'S CHILD IN THE FORESTS.

SCENY.-The banks of a solitary river in an American forest. A tent under pine-trees in the foreground. AGNES sitting before the tent, with a child in her arms apparently sleeping.

Agnes Surely 'tis all a dream-a fever-dream!
The deso ation and the agony—

The strange red sunrise-and the gloomy woods,
So terrible with their dark giant boughs,
And the broad lonely river! all a dream!

And my boy's voice will wake me, with its clear,
Wild singing tones, as they were wont to come,
Through the wreath'd sweetbrier at my lattice-panes
In happy, happy England! Speak to me!
Speak to thy mother, bright one! she hath watch'd
All the dread night beside thee, till her brain
Is darken'd by swift waves of fantasies,
And her soul faint with longing for thy voice.
Oh! I must wake him with one gentle kiss
On his fair brow!

(Shudderingly.) The strange damp thrilling touch!
The marble chill! Now, now it rushes back-
Now I know all!-dead-dead!-a fearful word!
My boy hath left me in the wilderness,

To journey on without the blessed light

In his deep loving eyes-he's gone--he's gone!

Her HUSBAND enters

Husband. Agnes, my Agnes! hast thou look'd thy last On our sweet slumberer's face? The hour is come

The couch made ready for his last repose.

Agnes. Not yet! thou canst not take him from me yet;

If he but left me for a few short days,

This were too brief a gazing time, to draw

His angel image into my fond heart,

And fix its beauty there. And now-oh! now,

Never again the laughter of his eye

Shall send its gladd'ning summer through my soul-
Never on earth again. Yet, yet delay!

Thou canst not take him from me.

Husband,

My beloved!

Is it not God hath taken him? the God

EMIGRANT'S CHILD IN THE FORESTS.

That took our first-born, o'er whose early grave
Thou didst bow down thy saint-like head, and say,
"His will be done!"

Agnes,
Oh! that near household grave,
Under the turf of England, seem'd not half-
Not half so much to part me from my child
As these dark woods. It lay beside our home,
And I could watch the sunshine, through all hours,
Loving and clinging to the grassy spot;

And I could dress its greensward with fresh flowers→→
Familiar, meadow flowers. O'er thee my babe,
The primrose will not blossom! Oh! that now,
Together, by thy fair young sister's side,
We lay 'midst England's valleys!

Husband.

Dost thou grieve

Agnes! that thou hast follow'd o'er the deep
An exile's fortunes? If it thus can be,
Then, after many a conflict cheerily met,
My spirit sinks at last.

Agnes.
Forgive, forgive!
My Edmund, pardon me! Oh! grief is wild-
Forget its words, quick spray-drops from a fount
Of unknown bitterness! Thou art my home!
Mine only and my blessed one! Where'er
Thy warm heart beats in its true nobleness,
There is my country! there my head shall rest,
And throb no more. Oh! still, by thy strong love,
Bear up the feeble reed!

[Kneeling with the child in her arms.
And thou, my God!
Hear my soul's cry from this dread wilderness,
Oh! hear, and pardon me! If I have made
This treasure, sent from thee, too much the ark
Fraught with mine earthward-clinging happiness,
Forgetting Him who gave, and might resume,
Oh, pardon me!

If nature hath rebell'd,
And from thy light turn'd wilfully away,
Making a midnight of her agony,
When the despairing passion of her clasp
Was from its idol stricken at one touch
Of thine Almighty hand-oh, pardon me!
By thy Son's anguish, pardon! In the soul
The tempests and the waves will know thy voice-
Father say, "Peace, be still!"

[Giving the child to her husband.
Farewell, my babe :

Go from my bosom now to other rest!

With this last kiss on thine unsullied brow,
And on thy pale calm cheek these contrite tears,
I yield thee to thy Maker!

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Husband.

Now, my wife,

Thine own meek holiness beams forth once more
A light upon my path. Now shall I bear,
From thy dear arms, the slumberer to repose-
With a calm, trustful heart.

Agnes.

Where wilt thou lay him?
Husband.

My Edmund! where

See'st thou where the spire

Of yon dark cypress reddens in the sun

To burning gold ?-there-o'er yon willow-tuft?
Under that native desert monument

Lies his lone bed. Our Hubert, since the dawn,

With the grey mosses of the wilderness

Hath lined it closely through; and there breathed forth,
E'en from the fulness of his own pure heart,

A wild, sad forest hymn-a song of tears,

Which thou wilt learn to love. I heard the boy

Chanting it o'er his solitary task,

As wails a wood-bird to the thrilling leaves,
Perchance unconsciously.

Agnes.

My gentle son!

The affectionate, the gifted! With what joy-
Edmund, rememberest thou?-with what bright joy
His baby brother ever to his arms

Would spring from rosy sleep, and playfully
Hide the rich clusters of his gleaming hair

In that kind youthful breast! Oh! now no more,
But strengthen me, my God! and melt my heart,
Even to a well-spring of adoring tears,

For many a blessing left.

(Bending over the child.) Once more farewell! Oh, the pale, piercing sweetness of that look! How can it be sustain'd? Away, away!

[After a short pause. Edmund, my woman's nature still is weak

I cannot see thee render dust to dust!
Go thou, my husband, to thy solemn task;
I will rest here, and still my soul with prayer
Till thy return.

Husband. Then strength be with thy prayer!
Peace on thy bosom! Faith and heavenly hope
Unto thy spirit! Fare thee well a while!

We must be pilgrims of the woods again,

After this mournful hour.

He goes out with the child.-AGNES kneels in prayer.-Aĥ ter a time, voices without are heard singing.

THE FUNERAL HYMN.

Where the long reeds quiver,
Where the pines make moan,

By the forest river,

Sleeps our babe alone.

England's field flowers may not deck his grave.
Cypress shadows o'er him darkly wave.

EASTER DAY IN A MOUNTAIN CHURCHYARD. 463

Woods unknown receive him,
'Midst the mighty wild;
Yet with God we leave him,
Blessed, blessed child!

And our tears gush o'er his lovely dust
Mournfully, yet still from hearts of trust.

Though his eye hath brighten'd

Oft our weary way,
And his clear laugh lighten'd
Half our hearts' dismay;

Still in hope we give back what was given,
Yielding up the beautiful to Heaven.

And to her who bore him,
Her who long must weep,
Yet shall Heaven restore him
From his pale, sweet sleep!

Those blue eyes of love and race again
Through her soul will shine, undim'd by pain.
Where the long reeds quiver,

Where the pines make moan,

Leave we by the river

Earth to earth alone!

God and Father! may our journeyings on
Lead to where the blessed boy is gone!

From the exile's sorrow,

From the wanderer's dread
Of the night and morrow,
Early, brightly fled:

Thou hast call'd him to a sweeter home
Than our lost one o'er the ocean's foam.

Now let thought behold him
With his angel look,

Where those arms enfold him,
Which benignly took

Israel's babes to their Good Shepherd's breast,
When his voice their tender meekness blest.

Turn thee now, fond mother!

From thy dead, oh, turn!
Linger not, young brother,

Here to dream and mourn:

Only kneel once more around the sod,

Kneel, and bow submitted hearts to God!

EASTER-DAY IN A MOUNTAIN CHURCHYARD

THERE is a wakening on the mighty hills,

A kindling with spirit of the morn

Bright gleams are scatter'd from the thousand rills,)
And a soft visionary hue is born

On the young foliage, worn

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