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42 ON THE DEATH OF ISMAEL FITZADAM. Praise ! light and dew of the sweet leaves
Around the Poet's temples hung,
By envious or by idle tongue !
Only if others do the same;
Is on the air that bears your name.
He of the Desert Harp, whose song
That bore him and his harp along ?
To pine, each finer impulse check'd;
The shade and silence of neglect.
The phenix from dark years gone by,
Her warrior and her bard to die.
Could bear no more, so broke at last.
Of sweet hopes, high imaginings,
Cursing his too beloved strings !
I THINK OF THE E.
BY T. K. HERVEY.
I THINK of thee, in the night
When all beside is still,
To sit on the lonely hill :-
And the breezes all like sighs,
Like thy spirit's low replies !
Mid the cold and busy crowd,
Is far too glad and loud;
And thy sweet young smile I see, -My heart—my heart were all alone,
But for its dreams of thee!
And, yet, I do not weep;
Before they went to sleep;
Yet may I not repine,
And all the grief is mine.
Whate'er to me it cost,
On all that I have lost;
-Alas! it wears her wing !-
Sings only in the spring!
I THINK OF THEE.
Just as thou wert in youth ;
Upon my lonely truth ;-
Since lost its sweeter rays, And what is memory through the gloom,
Was hope in brighter days! I am pining for the home
Where sorrow sinks to sleep, Where the weary and the weepers come,
And they cease to toil and weep!
That each should be a tear,
Above an early bier.
Oh like those fairy things,
Those insects of the east, Which have their beauty in their wings,
And shroud it while they rest;
When earthward they alight,
Only to take their flight;
I never knew how dear thou wert,
y ! I have it, yet, about my heart,
Thy beauty of that day;
In other climes, were given,
And seek thee out, in heaven!
FOR NOT FULFILLING AN ENGAGEMENT.
BY LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY.
My friend, I gave a glad assent
To your request at noon, But now I find I cannot leave
My little ones so soon. Early I came, and as my feet
First enter'd at the door, " Reniember,” to myself I said,
“ You must dismiss at four.” But slates, and books, and maps appear,
And many a dear one cries, « Oh tell us where that river runs,
And where these mountains rise, And where that blind old monarch reign'd,
And who was king before, And stay a little after five,
And tell us something more.” And then my little Alice comes,
And who unmoved can view The glance of that imploring eye,
Pray, teach me something too." Yet who would think amid the toil
(Though scarce a toil it be),
Should deign to peep at me.
As if it fain would say,
We must have lost our way.”
As these slight numbers show,
My friend, I cannot go.
BY THE REV. JOHN MOULTRIE.
“Forget thee?”—If to dream by night, and muse on
thee by day; If all the worship deep and wild a poet's heart can pay, If prayers in absence, breathed for thee to heaven's protecting power,
[hour, If winged thoughts that fit to thee-a thousand in an If busy Fancy blending thee with all
future lot, If this thou call'st“ forgetting,” thou, indeed, shalt
“ Forget thee?"-Bid the forest birds forget their
sweetest tune! Forget thee?”—Bid the sea forget to swell beneath Bid the thirsty flowers forget to drink the eve's re
freshing dew; Thyself forget thine “own dear land,” and its
tains wild and blue;" Forget each old familiar face, each long remember'd
spot: When these things are forgot by thee, then thou shalt
Keep, if thou wilt, thy maiden peace, still calm and
fancy-free; For, God forbid ! thy gladsome heart should grow less
glad for me; Yet, while that heart is still unwon, oh, bid not mine to rove,
slove; But let it muse its humble faith, and uncomplaining If these, preserved for patient years, at last avail me not, Forget me then ;-hut ne'er believe that thou canst