THE DEPARTED.

BY PARK BENJAMIN.

THE departed! the departed!
They visit us in dreams,

And they glide above our memories,
Like shadows over streams ;—
But where the cheerful lights of home
In constant lustre burn,

The departed the departed
Can never more return!

The good, the brave, the beautiful!
How dreamless is their sleep,
Where rolls the dirge-like music
Of the ever-tossing deep,-
Or where the hurrying night-winds
Pale Winter's robes have spread
Above the narrow palaces,

In the cities of the dead!

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THE DEPARTED.

I look around and feel the awe

Of one who walks alone

Among the wrecks of former days,
In mournful ruin strown.

I start to hear the stirring sounds
Among the cypress trees;

For the voice of the departed
Is borne upon the breeze.

That solemn voice! it mingles with
Each free and careless strain;

I scarce can think Earth's minstrelsy
Will cheer my heart again.
The melody of Summer waves,

The thrilling notes of birds,

Can never be so dear to me,

As their remembered words.

I sometimes dream their pleasant smiles
Still on me sweetly fall!
Their tones of love I faintly hear
My name in sadness call.

I know that they are happy,
With their angel plumage on;
But my heart is very desolate,

To think that they are gone.

And they glide above our memories,
Like shadows over streams;-

But where the cheerful lights of home
In constant lustre burn,

The departed the departed
Can never more return!

THE CHIMES OF ENGLAND.

BY ARTHUR CLEAVELAND COX.

Upon the bells. Zechariah, 14: 20.

THE chimes, the chimes of Motherland,
Of England green and old,

That out from fane and ivied tower
A thousand years have toll'd;
How glorious must their music be

As breaks the hallowed day,

And calleth with a seraph's voice

A nation up to pray!

Those chimes that tell a thousand tales,

Sweet tales of olden time!

And ring a thousand memories

At vesper, and at prime;

At bridal and at burial,

For cottager and king

Those chimes-those glorious Christian chimes,

How blessedly they ring!

Outbreaking, as the angels did,
For a Redeemer born;

How merrily they call afar,

To cot and baron's hall,

With holly deck'd and mistletoe,
To keep the festival!

The chimes of England, how they peal From tower and gothic pile,

Where hymn and swelling anthem fill The dim cathedral aisle ;

Where windows bathe the holy light

On priestly heads that falls,

And stain the florid tracery

And banner-dighted walls!

And then, those Easter bells, in Spring! Those glorious Easter chimes!

How loyally they hail thee round,

Old Queen of holy times!

From hill to hill, like sentinels,

Responsively they cry,

And sing the rising of the LORD,

From vale to mountain high.

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