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ROAR OF THE SEA AT NIGHT.
From flaming Equinox to frigid Pole,
Engulfing mountains at a sweep
Beneath their angry sway,
In their triumphant way,
'Tis midnight !-earth and air
Are hush'd in lair and rest-
Hath never needed rest:
Why dost thou thunder so?
What in thy depths profound,
Gives out that angry sound;
Age thou hast never known
Thou shalt be young and free,
And all is dumb save thee;
KIRKSTALL ABBEY REVISITED.
BY ALARIC A. WATTS.
The echoes of its vaults are eloquent!
Long years have pass’d since last I stray'd,
In boyhood, through thy roofless aisle,
Day's latest, loveliest smile;
The aspen scarcely seem'd to sway;
The river stream'd away, -
Steep'd in a flood of glorious light,
Type of that hour of deep repose, In wan, wild beauty on my sight,
Thy time-worn tower arose, Brightening above the wreck of years, Like FAITH amid a world of fears !
I climb'd its dark and dizzy stair,
And gain'd its ivy-mantled brow;
Ascend that pathway now?
KIRKSTALL ABBEY REVISITED,
Have sunk beneath the foot of Time;
Me, once, to heights sublime,
Once more by thy deserted fane,
How changed by grief and pain,
What visions meet my mental eye!
Some trace of years gone by,-
Of sunny youth's delightful morn;
By pining cares unworn,
Hath seard my trusting heart since then ;
The springs that life sustain,-
In youth and hope's unclouded hours !
The loveliest prospect lours:
Thou wert a splendid vision then ;-
Of summer evening's softest ray,
Still mantle thy decay;
That made thee seem so more than fair, The aspirations wild and high,
The soul to nobly dare, Oh where are they, stern ruin, say?Thou dost but echo—WHERE ARE THEY?
Farewell !-Be still to other hearts
What thou wert long ago to mine ; And when the blissful dream departs,
Do thou a beacon shine, To guide the mourner through his tears, To the bless'd scenes of happier years.
Farewell !-I ask no richer boon,
Than that my parting hour may be Bright as the evening skies of June !
Thus—thus to fade like thee, With heavenly Faith's soul-cheering ray To gild with glory my decay!
ON SEEING A DECEASED INFANT.
BY WILLIAM B. PEA BODY.
And this is death! how. cold and still,
And yet how lovely it appears !
And yet too beautiful for tears.
The cheek hath lost its roselike red;
I stand and gaze upon the dead.
But when I see the fair wide brow,
Half shaded by the silken hair, That never look'd so fair as now,
When life and health were laughing there, I wonder not that grief should swell
So wildly upward in the breast, And that strong passion once rebel,
That need not, cannot be suppress'd. I wonder not that parents' eyes,
In gazing thus grow cold and dim, That burning tears and aching sighs
Are blended with the funeral hymn; The spirit hath an earthly part,
That weeps when earthly pleasure flies, And heaven would scorn the frozen heart
That melts not when the infant dies.
And yet why mourn? that deep repose
Shall never more be broke by pain; Those lips no more in sighs unclose,
Those eyes shall never weep again.