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Where long they lived in love, and to the elf In the deep vales, even when the storms
Now fondly clinging to her grandam's knee,
In all the love of quick-won infancy,
Point with the triumph of a mother's smile.
The sweet child then will tell her tale
Of her own blossom'd bower, and palmy

And birds with golden plumes, that sweetly sing

Tunes of their own, or borrow'd from her voice;

And, as she speaks, lo! flits with gorgeous

Upon her outstretch'd arm, a fearless bird,
Her eye obeying, ere the call was heard,
And wildly warbles there the music of its

Unto the blessed Matron's eye
How changed scem now town, sea, and sky!
She feels as if to youth restored,
Such fresh and beauteous joy is pour'd
O'er the green dancing waves, and shelly

The crowded masts within the harbour stand,
Emblems of rest: and yon ships far away,
Brightening the entrance of the Crescent-bay,
Seem things the tempest never can destroy,
To longing spirits harbingers of joy.
How sweet the music o'er the waves is borne,
In celebration of this glorious morn!
Ring on, ye bells! most pleasant is your

And the quick flash that bursts along the

The volumed smoke, and city-shaking roar,
Her happy soul now feels to be sublime.
How fair upon the human face appears
A kindling smile! how idle all our tears!
Short-sighted still the moisten'd eyes of

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are roaring
High up among the cliffs: and that sweet
That round the white walls of her cottage

With gliding motion most like to repose,
A quicker current to her blood restoring,
Will cheer her long before her eye-lids close.
And yonder cheek of rosy light,
Dark-clustering hair, and star-like eyes,
And fairy - form, that wing'd with rapture

And voice more wild than songstress of the

E'er pour'd unto the listening skies;
Yon spirit, who, with her angel-smile,
Shed Heaven around the lonely isle,
With Nature, and with Nature's art,
Will twine herself about the heart
Of her who hoped not for a grand - child's
These looks will scare disease and pain,
Till in her wasted heart again
Life grow with new-born bliss.

Far is the city left behind, And faintly-smiling through the soft - blae skies,

Like castled clouds the Cambrian hills arise:
Sweet the first welcome of the mountain-

And ever nearer as they come,
Beneath the hastening shades of silent Even,
Some old familiar object meets their sight,
Thrilling their hearts with sorrowful delight,
Until through tears they hail their blessed

Bathed in the mist, confusing earth with

With solemn gaze the aged matron sees
The green roof laughing beneath greener

And thinks how happy she will live and die
Within that cot at last, beneath the eye
Of them long wept as perish'd in the seas.
And what feel they? with dizzy brain they

On cot, field, mountain, garden, tree, and

With none contented, although loving all;
While deep-delighted memory,
By faint degrees, and silently,
Doth all their names recall.

And looking in her mother's face,
With smiles of most bewitching grace,
In a wild voice that wondering pleasure calms,
Exclaims the child: Is this home ours?
Ah me! how like these lovely flowers
To those I train'd upon the bowers
Of our own Isle of Palms!

Husht now these island-bowers as death' And ue'er may human foot or breath,

Stand they, o'er - shadowed by their palmy hill,

Their dew disturb again; but not more still | Encompass'd with delight.
--May thy old-age be calm and bright,
Thou gray hair'd one! —like some sweet

Than this deserted cottage! O'er the green, Once smooth before the porch, rank weeds

are seen,

Choking the feebler flowers: with blossoms hoar,

And verdant leaves, the unpruned eglantine
In wanton beauty foldeth up the door;
And through the clustering roses that entwine
The lattice-window, neat and trim before,
The setting sun's slant beams no longer shine.
The hive stands on the ivied tree,
But murmurs not one single bee;
Frail looks the osier-seat, and gray,
None hath sat there for many a day;
And the dial, hid in weeds and flowers,
Hath told, by none beheld, the solitary hours;
No birds that love the haunts of men
Hop here, or through the garden sing;
From the thick-matted hedge the lonely


Flits rapid by on timid wing,
Even like a leaf by wandering zephyr moved.
But long it is since that sweet bird,
That twitters 'neath the cottage-eaves,
Was here by listening morning heard:
For she, the summer-songstress, leaves
The roof by laughter never stirr'd,
Still loving human life and by it still beloved.

O! wildest cottage of the wild!

I see thee waking from thy breathless sleep!
Scarcely distinguish'd from the rocky steep,
High o'er thy roof in forms fantastic piled.
More beauteous art thou than of yore,
With joy all glistering after sorrow's gloom;
And they who in that paradise abide,
By sadness and misfortune beautified,
There brighter walk than o'er yon island-

As loveliness wakes lovelier from the tomb.
Long mayst thou stand in sun and dew,
And spring thy faded flowers renew,
Unharm'd by frost or blight!
Without, the wonder of each eye,
Within, as happy as the sky,

Of winter, cold, but clear, and shining far
Through mists with many a melancholy star.
-O Fairy-child! what can I wish for thee?
Like a perennial flow'ret mayst thou be,
That spends its life in beauty and in bliss!
Soft on thee fall the breath of time,
And still retain in heavenly clime
The bloom that charm'd in this!

O, happy Parents of so sweet a child,
Your share of grief already have you known;
But long as that fair spirit is your own,
To either lot you must be reconciled.
Dear was she in yon palmy grove,
When fear and sorrow mingled with your
And oft you w'sh'd that she had ne'er been

While, in the most delightful air
Th' angelic infant sang, at times her voice,
That seem'd to make even lifeless things

Woke, on a sudden, dreams of dim despair,
As if it breathed: For me, an Orphan, mourn!
Now can they listen when she sings
With mournful voice of mournful things,
Almost too sad to hear;

And when she chants her evening-hymn,
Glad smile their eyes, even as they swim
With many a gushing tear.
Each day she seems to them more bright
And beautiful,—a gleam of light
That plays and dances o'er the shadowy

It fadeth not in gloom or storm,—
For Nature charter'd that aërial form

In yonder fair Isle when she bless'd her


The Isle of Palms! whose forests tower again, Darkening with solemn shade the face of heaven.

Now far away they like the clouds are driven, And as the passing night-wind dies my strain!

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Her courts grow darker as the hour draws near When that blest corpse must sink for evermore,

Let down by loving hands to dungeon drear
From the glad world of sunshine cover'd o'er
By the damp pavement of the silent floor!
-Sad all around-as when a gentle day
All dimly riseth o'er a wreck-strewn shore,
When Love at last hath ceas'd to Heaven
to pray,

Or on the pillar'd shade in anguish leant) Through the dim echoing aisle a sorrow- And Grief hath wept her fill, and Hope turn'd sick away.

ful lament.

All night the melancholy moonshine slept O'er the lone chamber where his corpse was laid:

Amid the sighing groves the cold dews wept, And the sad stars in glimmering beams array'd

In heaven seem'd mourning o'er the parted
Of him who knew the nature and the name
Cf every orb to human ken display'd,

Yea! even a careless stranger might perceive
That death and sorrow rule this doleful
Passing along the gray-hair'd menials grieve,
Nor is it hard a tender gloom to trace
On the young chorister's sunshiny face,
While slow returning from the mournful


Of friend where they were weeping o'er the days

With Vernon past—profoundly sunk in gloom | Pale as a statue bending o'er a tomb, The pale-fae'd scholar walks, still dreaming of the tomb.

Now ghastly sight and lowly-whispering

On every side the sadden'd spirit meet-
And notice give to all the courts around
Of doleful preparation—the rude feet
Of death's hir'd menials through this calm

With careless tread are hurrying to and fro-
And loving hearts with pangs of anguish

To see the cloisters blackening all below With rueful sable plumes-a ghastly funeralshow.

The childless mother! as a statue still!
But Resignation, Hope, and Faith illume
Her upward eyes! and her meek spirit fill
With downy peace, which blasts of earthly ill
May never ruffle more—a smile appears
At times to flit across her visage chill,
More awful rendering every gush of tears
Shed at the dark eclipse of all life's sunny

The whole path from his cradle to his grave
She travels back with a bewilder'd brain!
Bright in the gales of youth his free locks


As if their burnish'd beauty laugh'd at pain, And god-like claim'd exemption from the reign

Of grief, decay, and death! Her touch doth


Come let us now with silent feet ascend The stair that leads up to yon ancient tower-Lips cold as ice that ne'er will glow again, There, lieth in his shroud my dearest And lo! from these wan lips unto his feet friend! Drawn by the hand of death a ghostly windOh! that the breath of sighs, the dewy ing-sheet! shower Stream'd from so many eye-lids had the power Gently to stir, and raise up from its bed The broken stalk of that consummate flower! Nought may restore the odours once when shed,

That sunshine smiles in vain-it wakens not the dead!

Behold! his parents kneeling side by side,
Still as the body that is sleeping there!
Far off were they when their sweet Henry

At once they fell from bliss into despair.
What sorrows slumber in that silvery hair!
The old man groans, nor dares his face to
To the glad daylight — while a sobbing


Steals from the calmer partner of his woe,
Who gently lays her hand upon those locks

of snow.

She hop'd to have seen him in yon hallow'd

With gay companions laughing at his side,
And listening unto him whom all did love!
For she had heard with pure maternal pride
How science to his gaze unfolded wide
Her everlasting gates-but as he trod
The Temple's inner shrine, he sank and

And all of him that hath not gone to God
Within her loving clasp lies senseless as
the clod.

With tottering steps she to the window

O! what a glorious burst of light is there!
Rejoicing in his course the river flows,
And 'neath its coronet of dark-blue air
The stately Elm-grove rises fresh and fair,
Blest in the dewy silence of the skies!
She looks one moment-then in blind despair
Turns to the coffin where her Henry lies-
closed eyes!

He lifts his eyes-quick through a parting-The green earth laughs in vain before his


The sun looks out-and fills the room with

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Lo! suddenly he starteth from his knees! And hurrying up and down, all round the walls

Glances wild looks-and now his pale hands

Just as the light on its expression falls,
Yon picture, whose untroubled face recalls
A smile for ever banish'd from the air!
O dark! my Boy! are now thy Father's

Lo! now the Pall comes forth into the light
And one chill shudder thrills the weeping

There is it 'mid the sunshine black as night!
And soon to disappear—a passing cloud!
Grief can no longer bear-but bursts aloud!
Youth, manhood, age, one common nature


And hoary heads across the pall are bowed
Near burnish'd locks where youthful beauty

But I will hang this silent picture there,
And morn and night will kneel before it in For all alike did love the Form that there



With trembling grasp he lifts the idle gown List! list! a doleful dirge—a wild death-song!
Worn by his Son-then closing his dim eyes, The coffin now is placed upon its bier,
With a convulsive start he flings it down, And through the echoing cloisters borne
Goes and returns, and loads it where it lies
With hurried kisses! Then his glance espies-How touching those young voices thus to
A letter by that hand now icy-cold
Fill'd full of love and homebred sympathies;
Naming familiarly both young and old,
And blessing that sweet Home he ne'er was
to behold.

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Singing of sorrow, and of mortal fear
To their glad innocence as yet unknown!
Singing they weep-but transient every tear,
Nor may their spirits understand the groan
That age or manhood pours above the
funeral stone.

Waileth more dolefully that passing psalm,
At every step they take towards the cell
That calls the coffin to eternal calm!
At each swing of the melancholy bell
More loud the sighing and the sobbing swell,
More ghostly paleness whitens every face!
Slow the procession moves-slow tolls that

But yet the funeral at that solemn pace
Alas! too soon will reach its final resting-


But now the door is open'd soft and slow.
The hour is come, and all the mourners wait| How Vernon lov'd to walk this cloister'd
With heads uncover'd in the courts below!
Stunn'd are the parents with these words
of fate,
And bow their heads low down beneath the


Of one soul-sickening moment of despair!
Grief cometh deadly when it cometh late,
And with a Fury's hand delights to tear
From Eld's deep-furrow'd front the thin
and hoary hair.

His eyes are open, and with tearless gleam
Fix'd on the coffin! but they see it not,
Like haunted Guilt blind - walking in a

With soul intent on its own secret blot.
The coffin moves!—yet rooted to the spot,
He sees it borne away, with vacant eyes,
Unconscious what it means! hath even forgot
The name of Her who in a death-fit lies,
His heart is turn'd to stone, nor heeds who
lives or dies!

In silent musings, far into the night!
When o'er that Tower the rising moon dis-

Not purer than his soul her cloudless light.
Still was his lamp-lit window burning bright,
A little earthly star that shone most sweet
To those in heaven-but now extinguish'd

—Fast-chain'd are now those nightly-wand-
'ring feet
In bonds that none may burst-folds of the

Wide is the chapel-gate, and entereth slow
With all its floating pomp that sable pall!
Silent as in a dream the funeral-show
(For grief hath breath'd one spirit into all)
Is ranged at once along the gloomy wall!
Ah me! what mournful lights athwart the

From yonder richly-pictur'd window fall!

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