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
vale,

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
wing

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

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
sand.

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
chime;

And the quick flash that bursts along the
shore,

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

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

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
flies,

And voice more wild than songstress of the
night

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
kiss!
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-
wind!

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
home,

Bathed in the mist, confusing earth with
heaven.

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

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
look

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

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,

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
night

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.

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
sound

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
retreat

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

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
years.

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

wave,

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

meet

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
died,

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

prayer

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
grove,

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
died-

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
goes.

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

cloud

The sun looks out-and fills the room with

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

Glances wild looks-and now his pale hands
seize,

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
halls!

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

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

sways

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

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

despair.

along!

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.

hear

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
knell-

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

shade

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

weight

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
dream,

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-
play'd

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
quite—

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

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
gloom,

From yonder richly-pictur'd window fall!