CAIN AT THE GRAVE OF ADA.

AND is it here thou liest, Ada! wife,

Sharer of all my earliest hopes and thoughts,

When they were worthy thee, when I was like thee, Oh, how I loved thee then! yea, now returns

That love, and I am all I should have been.

But thou hear 'st not, nor seest, thine ear is closed,

Oppressive earth lies heavy on thy heart:

Oh that thou couldst behold me kneeling here,

Imploring thee to trust me yet again!

What art thou who wert here with me so late?

Thy cherished flowers droop o'er thee, thou art dead,
For they are withered! Ada! thou, mine own,
Thou liest beneath in stony lifelessness!

Open, great mother Earth! thy infinite womb,
Take to his last rest thy abandoned son.
Hide me from day, from God's eye looking in
My naked heart! let me in darkness dwell.
Mysterious and almighty Death! unseen
Thou com'st, thy presence felt but in thy stroke:
The life that breathed, thought, felt, for ever stilled:
The changeful voice, the eyes whose light was ours,
The countenance dwelt on till become as one
Passed flower-like, hidden in the wormy earth,
And we to follow-wonderful is death!

Yet will I see thee, Ada!-from thy grave

I will rend-hold-profane not thou the dead!
Thou didst pollute her living, thy hands stained
With Abel's blood, thou slewest her in spirit,

CAIN AT THE GRAVE OF ADA.

As him in body, ye are now unite,
Ye flew to God upon the wings of faith:
The spirits that He loved he will renew,
Re-opening Eden's gates unforfeited.

Oh that my soul's remorse atonement were

To purify my being!-calm lies on me

I have not felt since boyhood; yet one more
Embrace, all senseless Earth!-now, to my father.

John Edmund Reade.

IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE.

IF thou wert by side, my love,
How fast would evening fail
In green Bengala's palmy grove,
List'ning the nightingale!

If thou, my love, wert by my side,
My babies at my knee,

How gaily would our pinnace glide
O'er Gunga's mimic sea!

I miss thee at the dawning gray,
When on our deck reclined,
In careless ease my limbs I lay,
And woo the cooler wind.

IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE.

I miss thee when by Gunga's stream
My twilight steps I guide,

But most beneath the lamp's pale beam,
I miss thee from my side.

I spread my books, my pencil try,
The lingering noon to cheer,
But miss thy kind, approving eye,

Thy meek, attentive ear.

But when of morn or eve the star
Beholds me on my knee,

I feel, though thou art distant far,
Thy prayers ascend for me.

Then on then on! where duty leads,
My course be onward still;

O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads,
O'er bleak Almorah's hill.

That course, nor Delhi's kingly gates,
Nor mild Malwah detain;

For sweet the bliss us both awaits

By yonder western main.

Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say.

Across the dark-blue sea;

But ne'er were hearts so light and gay

As then shall meet in thee!

Reginald Hebr.

HITHER come at close of day,

And o'er this dust sweet mothers pray!

ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD.

A little infant lies within

Who never knew the name of sin, Beloved-bright-and all our own-Like morning fair-and sooner flown!

No leaves or garlands wither here,
Like those in foreign lands,

No marble hides our dear one's bier,

The work of alien hands,

The months it lived, the name it bore, The silence telleth-nothing more!

No more, yet Silence stalketh round
This vault so dim and deep,

And Death keeps watch without a sound
Where all lie pale and sleep;

But palest here and latest hid
Is he beneath this coffin-lid.

How fair he was-how very fair,
What dreams we pondered o'er,
Making his life so long and clear,
His fortunes flowing o'er.
Our hopes (that he would happy be
When we ourselves were old),
The scenes we saw, or hoped to see,
They're soon and sadly told ;
All was a dream-It came and fled,
And left us here among the dead!

Pray, Mothers, pray, at close of day,
While we, sad parents, weep alway!
Pray too (and softly be 't and long),
That all your babes now fair and strong
May blossom like-not like the rose,
For that doth fade when Summer goes-