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To bloom the withered verdure of his soul,
To be a child among the children's sports,
And from the gentle shyness of their hearts,
To win its love, and point that love to God.
Summer had passed ; and Autumn found his home
For ever fixed amid those storied fields
Which Fancy, less than Truth, has named Elysian.
There had his mind's illumined childhood framed
Its fancied paradise ; and there his eyes
Closed, gazing in mute prophecy on heaven-
The midnight heaven! At midnight Julian died,
His couch beside the casement, and the glow
Of the far gleaming star-worlds in his soul.
“ Bear me,” he softly murmured, “bear the clay

That then shall cease to suffer, to a grave “ In the dim twilight of the forest shade" That hallowed shade-know you it not ? where Christ “ So oft made one with us, as sought our hearts “ To feel his teaching, and our lips to speak. “ Yes, bury me alone : I would not join “ That world in death which I abjured in life.

The Spring will robe in tenderer green, the place • Where Nature's lover lies ; the Summer spread “ Her flowers ; and latest Autumn's wasted leaves “ Strew o'er his head a sylvan monument* I ask no other from the love of man. “ I go, my friend, I go : the golden stars “ Seem, as they beckon through the eternal space, “ To smile the struggling spirit to its home“ To Him who saved it: and the sphered song

That bards of old have dreamed they heard on nights “ Like this, is echoed in my dying breast. “ It is not death-the better birth is come “ The clouds dissolve in light—the break of morn “ Dawns, and the east is reddening with a glow “ Precursive of the noon that knows no night !" Thus did he speak, until the failing heart Told its last beat, and I was left alone.

Fragments of recollection, broken lays,
Unfinish'd scrolls—the weary heart's relief
Found scattered where his daily volumes lay,
Abrupt and hasty as the thoughts they told,
Though picturing truly a progressive life,
We give ye here-linked as conjecture may.
Think not, harsh balancers of thoughts, to find
The gorgeous novelties of Fancy's store
In the mild visions of a dying youth,
Dim shadows of a brightness past !
Beneath the sickly smile of latest eve,
I turn to blend, in one continuous light,
These hallowed gleams of truth. A fitting hour!
Calm as his soul-calm as my dreams of him
Who loved this mute unveiling of the skies !
Yea, when I gaze on yonder holy star,
That hangs upon the crown of heaven's high arch,
And pours, alone, a sad and solemn beam,
That radiant thing, by some invisible charm,
Draws nearer to mine heart the memory

And now,

Of the poor youth. Thus gentle was his glance,
Thus lone and lofty his unclouded soul !

Ye, then, who mourn with still consoling joy-
Ye who can grieve, not as the hopeless grieve-
Read, pity, and in pity conquering scorn,
As brethren scan a brother's lot. But oh!
Be wiser as ye read ; and learn to bow
In meekness confident, before the throne
Of Providence, mercy to see in Him-
Mercy most just, and Justice mercisul,
Unchanged because omniscient destiny,
Our Freedom and our l'ate combined in one!

END OF THE INTRODUCTION.

(The Poem to be commenced and continued in subsequent numbers.)

THE EMIGRANT'S TALE.

were

He was wicked every way, in troth. Having dismissed my trusty Indian, I Many's the blessed Christmas and encountered, after a little time, a very Easter was gone by, without him benddifferent character an Irish emigrant ing bis knee to a priest ; and while --and as I had been vainly endeavour- you'd pity the ould man, the way he ing to reconcile my mind to the pros- worked late and carly to keep the bit pect of another night beside a watch- in the son's mouth, sorra band's turn fire in the wilderness, I learned, with would Brian do; but if he wasn't no small satisfaction, that we coortin' the girls, and gettin' into all within a few miles of a lately estab- sorts o' divilment at home, maybe it's lished settlement, whither my fellow- an ould gun he'd borry, and off over traveller undertook to conduct me. the mountains wid him, by the dawn The sun was low in the west ; and as of a summer's mornin', as gay and we journeyed on through the dusky pleasant as a young lord. They say paths of the forest, the emigrant be- his people had seen betther times, and guiled the way by the following homely some allowed it was that turned him narrative. Having dwelt with natural agin' humblin' himself to the work ; but enthusiasm upon the recollectious of it's remarkable neither him nor the better days, and distant homes, he thus father ever let on a word about it good proceeded :

or bad ; only still when you'd offer the “ There was a neighbour's son of fellow a piece o' neighbourly advice, our's, one Brian Donnelly, a comely ‘Och tundher an' agers, boys! he'd boy, faix, as you'd see in a day's walk'; say, ' where's the use iv a man workin' but beyant that no one had, nor could the life out iv himself? Sure who have, a good word for Brian. It isn't knows what luck's afore him?' and fittin', your honour, to spake ill o' the thrue for him, the unfortunate sinnerdead, more partic'lar iv one that died little did he know what was afore him, without the holy hand bein' over him ; when he ris that mornin' wid a guilty but it's far away the sperit walks ; and heart, and kem afore night to his sudsure the world knows that unfortunate den and evil end. crathur was never marked with luck “ Well he was a wonderful upsettin' nor grace. He had well-wishers, to be chap this Brian, and in the coorse o' sure, for he was a friendly chap enough, time didn't he take it into his head to and myself often thought that wanst be made a district captain! I suppose he'd get over his wild ways, he'd be a he thought the boys were as mad as credit to the town; but it wasn't betther himself, and certainly there was some but worse he still grew, till at last we foolish crathurs would have him chose agreed to let him run his coorsc—and right or wrong. Howsomdever, mya woeful one it was for him and his self was the man they elicted, and from

as ever.

that hour Donnelly and me was two. Donnelly,' he says, 'you and There was an other raison forbye the Thompson's become nighty friendly cliction ; but I'm goin' to tell you now of late.' how I first persaved the heart-hatred • Och no,' says Donnelly,' but faith that soon brought sorrow on us all. he looked cruel dark, 'och no,' says he,

It was one stormy evening, as we were nothing partic'lar. He was kindly to comin' home from Moneycarig, afther the ould man when he had the fever, buryin' a neighbour's wife, when a lock and I'm thankful to bim iv coorse.' iv us turned into a shebeen, to take a • • Was he ?' says the same chap dhrop o' refreshment. We were gettin' back again. • Faix that's the first I middlin pleasant, for it was comin' on heard of it, or of his ever doin' a good a rough night, when all at oncet a little turn by any man, gentle or simple. ould man, that was sittin' by the hob Why, for that matther,' says Donwhen we kem in to dhrink, raiches nelly, the sorra much differ myself over behind one or two more, and sees among all of his sort ; the best o' whispers into my ear, 'Do you mind them, in troth, 'll never break their him.' pointing to Brian Donnelly, that hearts with kindness to the poor ; but sat, with a curl in his lip, lookin' I believe,' says he, afther all, Mr. mighty keen at me, and the liquor Thompson can do a good turn now coolin' afore him. I took no notice, and then as well as another.' but he still kept starin' just the same “* By dad, then, Briny,' says a little

Well I thought it was un- chap, sittin' fornenst him, ' you make a natural the way he was gettin' on, and liar o’ yourself; for it's often I heard fais, I was becomin' a little unaisy ; so you say that the divil had more feel. I says, thinkin' to rouse him, · Brian,' in' in his heart than the same purty says I, your health I wish.'

Andy ; and by my sowl, it's more nor *“ I thank you, captain,” says he. you has that story to tell.'

And betther manners to you,' says ** Well then, boys,' says Donnelly, I, in my own mind. That was all lettin' out a great oath, I'll tell you passed atween us; but afther a bit what it is-I'll spake to whom I plase, Donnelly gets up.

and I'll be friendly with whom I plase ; «« Boys, he says, I'll give yees a and let me see the man 'ill say agin it! toast-Here's confusion to him that I'm afeared o' no man,' says he, turnin' doesn't folly up the bould beginnin'!' wonderful fierce on myself-for surely

“ Of coorse, your honour, it's hard he had a power o'whisky in— I'm for me to know what was the raison, afeared ono man, either Captain or but a notion crossed me as he said the GENERAL !! word-thinks I to myself, there's • Success! Brian,' shouted the lads ; more in that than he'd be willing to for you see they thought they'd take let on ; and maybe others had the their divarsion out iv him, when they same doubt-for when, afther swallyin' seen him angered; but myself begun as good as a naggin o' whiskey, he looks to suspect there was somethin' wrong, round, and--Lord save us! but his eyes or, you know, sir, why would he be were red and wild-like-the divil angered at their jokin' about his acresave the man iv us had lifted a glass. quaintance with the agent ? and, to be So Brian laughed! but l'ın tould he sure, if it wasn't for the dhrink, he'd laughed the night his mother died. You'll have had more wit nor to let on that think it odd, sir, but when he gave the he cared for their bantherin' ways. toast, the little ould man that was Well I mind we had a quare walk sittin' by the hob, whispers to the boy home that might; but the stars was all convanient to bim,

out, and the moon - - faix she was “Somethiu' tells me,' says hc, “that's twenty tiwos brighter then I seen the an unlucky toast for him that dhrinks

sun many a day; and if it was a little it.'

windy or so, why the whiskey bein' · None iv us kuowed wlio that ould good, the not a much we cared what man was, but it's long his words were the weather was. Briau and me soon remeinbered when we seen bow thrue got on a good piece afore the res', so they turned out.

Alther a bit, we got we turned into the valley, by way o' the life into us again, and the boy's makin' a short cut home, and kept as begun jokin' and jibin'; and one o' good as hall a mile along the river, till them says, givin' us the wink

it brought us into one of the wildest

65

you have

and purtiest spots you'd wish to see you're a better man nor me; but, Briny, they say the fairies used to dance it's a foolish thing to be in a lonesome there reg’lar ; but, indeed, myself never place at night with one chanced to come across them, though betrayed.

You false villain,' says I thravelled it at all hours, late and I, • I'm sould ! but are you positive early.

Any way, as we were goin' sure you'll ever handle the bloodalong, and the glen still gettin' deeper money ?' and darker, Donnelly says to me, ' Do Well, sir, when he swore by the you mind the night?'

bright heavens that I wrong'd him, “" I do, well,' says I ; 'there below's wasn't I the fool to believe his oath ? the very spot we swore him.'

for divil as he was, I never thought he “Jeminy,' says he, “that was hangin' would bring on his sowl the perjury of matter.'

that beautiful and holy light. How«• Faith, I b'lieve it was,' says I, somdever, I had my fears, for I knew • but thank God there was ne'er a stag he was false-hearted ; but, God help among us ; and upon my sowl,

' says I, me! little did I know the lengths he * I think the blessin' o' the widow and had gone. the orphan is on us for that deed, for “ You mind I said there was anmany a one we saved from ruin by the other raison, forbye the eliction, why fear we put into his unchristianable Brian had a spite again' me. There heart.

was a gentleman wanst lived in our Many a one !' says Brian ; but counthry,--a poor gentleman he was, afther a bit

, he says in a strange kind and more's the pity, for he was beto'way; Captain,' says he, ‘would you ther nor them that maybe thought like to be hanged?

much o' themselves, and though he * Well, sir, may I never sin, but had little to give but good will and when I looked at him, to see what was good counsel, it was allowed by all the matther wid him at all, at all, that a word from him was worth goold there was a leer in his eye that would from another. It would have been have frightened a priest-it was the tellin' us a power that God had spared threacherous look! · Why, Lord save him longer; for throuble never kem us, man,' suys I, “what do you mane on us till he was called away.

He talking in such a way in this lonesome lived in a little cottage quite solitaryplace! I wondher but you have more like, himself and his daughter, the sense nor to be jokin' about the like.' beautifullest young lady at all, but

“* Och, ay,' says he, that's thrue; what's beauty without the kindly heart! and yet,' says he, mighty bitther, ‘don't and sure it wasn't her beauty made you

know it would be as well to be the poor think the grass was greener hanged, as still be crossin' the way iv where she trod, and brought blessin's an unfortunate man. M‘Mahon,' says day and night on their lonely home. he, “I'd be sorry any thing would Now it would do you good to see the happen you, but I don't know how it two wandherin' late iv a summer's is, I have a notion either you or me evenin', up beyant the fort, and talkin', 'ill come to an unlucky end.'

I'll be bound, iv ould times, and them “"God bless you, Brian Donnelly, that was gore ; for when they'd call in says I, crossin' myself, will you at some poor body's cabin on the whisht!' and small blame to me, your way,—and och! he was the free and honour, if I didn't care to be alone hearty gentleman with us all !-the with such an uncliristian crathur, down smile would be off her face, and her among the dark meandherins iv a glen lovely blue eyes full up of tears. that had a bad name over the whole At last the sorrowful day came,

But when we got at when she was left on the wide world, last nigh the foot of the waterfall, without home or shelther! Her friends where the bills were a taste wider, and were mighty grand entirely,—but it's a let the moonlight partly down to where notion myself bas, that them great we stood, a thought kem across me- people doesn't think a power iv either • Stop a bit,' says I; “you say there's beauty or goodness; and barrin' you a sorrowful death in store for one iv have something else they like betther, us, and maybe your words are thruer the sorra much consarn they give nor you think. I know you consate themselves about you,—and that's

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country round.

But,

what I call unnatural, sir ; and bad as look at the misthress herself. the poor are, and God help us, we're I'm tould, whenever she chanced to bad enough, I think, somehow, they persave him, he'd turn as white as a have more feelin' for their own than sheet, and never say another word till them that ought to know betther. he'd get up and lave the house. But Any way the poor young misthress's it isn't home he'd go then, but wanpeople never let on they knew there dher about the hills for as good as three was such a one alive; but they mightn't hours afther night-fall ; and sure some have been one bit afeared, for she had that seen him, thought it was out of his a spirit above bein' thrustin' to them; mind he was ; but not a sowl, barrin' but with the thrifle the masther left myself and two more, knowed, for she went to live with a quiet, decent many a long day, the raal raison iv it couple ; and sure it's them was proud all. ' I didn't know it at first, and to and happy to have the likes iv her tell you the truth, I didn't much like undher their humble roof. The Doo- to see him gettin' so great at Owen's, Jans had the purtiest and comforta- 'specially, as the whole parish was beblest farm in the whole town; but ginnin' to say he was goin' afther there was more than the ould couple Nancy—and by dad,' says some, in it, and there's no use in sayin' that “Nancy's the very girl 'll soon give Nancy Doolan was the glory o' the Jemmy M.Mahon the go by, when counthry around,-she's gone now, my Brian gets alongside iv her with that colleen dhu! and I wish her likes may oily talk iv his.' be ever seen again among the valleys I had another notion ; but

any of Lisnashara. There was lads way, I thought it as well to speak to enough, you may be sure, dyin' about her about what the neighbours was the same Nancy ; but, somehow, her sayin', and what myself thought o' such and me had always a kind o’likin' for a notorious vagabond frequentin' an other ; for, you see, there was only a honest girl's company. And he was a mearin'-ditch between the farms, so dangerous vagabond wanst he'd get in we'd sometimes meet by chance, down with a woman, for sure enough he had in the hollow, when the dew 'id be the divil's tongue for coaxin'. So one fallin'; and as that's the greatest time evening, afther letting the horses loose, at all for the boys and girls to be court- I sthrolls along, thinkin' o' what I'd in', why we grew fonder and fonder, say, for I was afeard, in my own mind, till I thought there was none on Irish she'd think it was jealous I was, when, ground like my own black-eyed jewel; just as I turns up the little path ladin' and no more there wasn't ; for och! to the cottage, who should I meet but she was the world's wondher for Brian, comin' whistlin' along, his hai beauty. Brian never had any ac- stuck on the side iv his head, and a quaintance with Nancy, beyant a word kind iv uneasiness about hini, that it o civility when they'd meet on the was plain enough seein' he wanted to road, or in a neighbour's house ; for consale. though he had the wondherfullest way "• God save you, Brian,' says I. of humbuggin' the girls of any chap “God save you kindly, Jemmy, ever you met, faix Nancy seen the sort says he ; and with that he was passin' he was ; and it would have been tellin' on, when I says to him :some poor deluded crathurs, if they had “· Hut, man,' says I, dont be in seen, afore it was too late, that no female such a murtheriu' hurry—the evenin's could gain either credit or characther long, and you're no ways far from by having any call to the likes of bim. home. You'll be there afore midnight Howsondever, a while afther the poor yet, Briny!' for I thought I'd tell him masther's death, he used to be still saun- a piece o mind. tering about the place, and would *«« « What do you mane?' says he. sometimes dhrop in, by way of havin' Oh, nothin', says I ; only the a bit of discourse with ould Owen; neighbours thinks it remarkable for but soon it came on that he'd sit the one, that's not overly fond iv hardship, length of the evenin' talkin' one kind to be lookin' afther another body's o' nonsense or another, and now and place all night, and him not so much then throwin' in a word o' fattery to as paid for it. They have quare stories Nancy, and sometimes stealin' a quiet about you, Briny.' Some says you're

my

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