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Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime- The fiery shaft ran down-down to a bed
On which lay prone a little wasted form
Of faded earth, from which the struggling soul
It was a girl-
A little sickly girl lay on that bed
To whom God's sunbeam came. She saw the And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
But to her eye of faith 'twas not a beam-
All small-all suited to her tiny feet-
And leading straight to Heaven.
“I must go HomeFor I was as it were a child of thee,
Not a short holiday, my mother dear,
Like those I've had from school-froin school to
And then from Home to school; the Home so short, EVENING ON THE BANKS OF THE BRENTA.
And, oh, the school so long! but always Home;
And it will be to-day-must be to-day."
“My darling is at Home!” the mother sobbed, Of blue Friuli's mountains: heaven is free
As with a moistened feather she essayed
To damp the parched lips, round which the dews
Shook from the wings of death thronged cold and Where the day joins the past eternity;
clear. While on the other hand, meek Diana's crest But in the eyes through which that spirit looked Floats through the azure air-an island of the blest. A soft denial shone; and the small voice
Pleaded in whispers to that mother's heart,A single star is at her side, and reigns
“Oh! do not keep me here-let me go Home;
And such a Home, sweet mother! there—'tis there/
She smiled within the sunbeam, and her hand,
Pointing to Heaven. A heaven not far away-
Seemed not to herald night, but the bright dawn
Of an unclouded and eternal day.
The mother felt, as kneeling by that bed
She tended every want, and on her breast
Pillowed the sufferer's head, that the frail shell,
The young worn mould encircled by her arms, Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day
Was crumbling fast to dust—and that the wings Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues Of a freed angel would be heavenward spread With a new colour as it gasps away,
When earth's last gyves fell off, and the last sigh The last still loveliest, till—'tis gone—and all is gray. Followed the sunbeam, sent to light her Home.
JOHN CRAWFORD WILSON.
A golden beam
They called her “Lily"-Lilian was her name-
And there she lay at last,—almost in Heaven- Your broad, kind breast, so full of love for meOf Time and of Eternity a part
'Twill rest me on my road—'tis half way Home! A dying, living link, uniting those Who live to die-and die to ever live!
And then he rose, and round her wasted form
His brawny arms—before whose mighty strength Her eyes were closed. Her mother thought she The massive anvil quivered, as his hands slept
Swung high the ponderous sledge—or in whose The sleep that wakes no more: but 'twas not so.
gripe A step was on the stair—the fading eyes
The fiery steed stood conquered and subdued-
Closed, as the breath of heaven, or God's own love,
The little dying child. Then there he sat,
Her face upon his breast, and on his knee 'Tis father's footstep—and so very kind—
Her tearless mother's head; for all her tears So thoughtful of his Lily, he has left
Were inly wept, dropping like molten lead His heavy boots below; he pauses now,
Upon her breaking heart.
Far in the west
hills; I want to feel his kiss upon my lips;
And through those clouds, as in a sea of blood, And take it up to Heaven.”
The sun sank slowly down. Ere his last ray
Glanced upwards from the earth, the father felt
His Lily lift her head-celestial light
Beamed from her eyes, as for the last embrace · May I come in?" If she is gone, say 'No.' . She to her mother turned, and then to him: If not, say “Yes.' I'll tread so very light,
“They beckon me,” she said; “I come! I come!” I shall not wake her, wife. May I come in?”
Around his neck she twined her faded arms,
Rising obedient to her heavenly call; A faltering voice said, “Come!” 'Twas Lily's | Again he pressed her lips, bat in the kiss voice;
Her soul, enfranchised, bounded from its thrall; So he went in—a stalwart, lusty man
Its crumbling fetters drooped upon his heart-
The angel was at Hame!
HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS
FROM GHENT TO AIX. A lily cleaving to a rugged rock.
I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;
He sat beside her bed, and in his hands
Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace
'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near
• This spirit shall return to Him
That gave its heavenly spark; Yet think not, sun, it shall be dim,
When thou thyself art dark ! No! it shall live again, and shine In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
By Him recalled to breath, Who captive led captivity, Who robbed the grave of victory,
And took the sting from death!'
Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall,
DREAM OF THE CONDEMNED FELON. Ships softly sinking in the sleepy sea;
Now arm in arm, now parted, they behold
The glittering waters on the shingles rolled:
The timid girls, half dreading their design, He hears the sentence and he feels the chain;
Dip the small foot in the retarded brine, He sees the judge and jury when he shakes,
And search for crimson weeds, which spreading flow. And loudly cries, Not guilty,' and awakes:
Or lie like pictures on the sand below; Then chilling tremblings o'er his body creep, With all those bright red pebbles that the sun Till worn-out nature is compelled to sleep.
Through the small waves so softly shines upon,
Pearl shells and rubied star-fish they admire,
Roars as it rises-save me, Edward, save!'
She cries.' Alas! the watchman on his way
ALFRED TENNYSON. The house, the chamber, where he once arrayed His youthful person, where h: knelt and prayed; She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode Then, too, the comforts he enjoyed at home,
About the hall, among his d gs alone. The days of joy, the joys themselves are come;
She told him of their fears, The hours of innocence, the timid look
And prayed him, 'If they pay this tax, they starve.' Of his loved maid, when first her hand he took Whereat he stared, replying, half amazed, And told his hope; her trembling joy appears, • You would not let your little finger ache Her forced reserve, and his retreating fears.
For such as these!'_But I would die,' said she. I now are present—'tis a moment's gleam
He laughed, and swore by Peter and by Paul; Of former sunshine-stay, delightful dream!
Then filliped at the diamond in her ear; Let him within his pleasant garden walk,
O ay, ay, ay, you talk !'—'Alas!' she said, Give him her arm, of blessings let them talk.
• But prove me what it is I would not do.' Yes! all are with him now, and all the while And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand, Lite's early prospects, and his Fa any's smile; He answered: ‘Ride you naked through the town, Then come his sister and his village friend,
And I repeal it;' and nodding as in scorn, And he will now the sweetest moments spend He parted, with great strides among his dogs. Life has to yield: no, never will he find
So left alone, the passions of her mindAgain on earth such pleasure in his mind:
As winds from all the compass shift and blowHe goes through shrubby walks these friends among, Made war upon each other for an hour, Love in their looks and honor on the tongue; Till pity won. She sent a herald forth, Nay, there's a charm beyond what nature shows, And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all The bloom is sofler, and more sweetly glows; The hard condition; but that she would loose Pierced by no crime, and urged by no desire
The people: therefore, as they loved her well, For moro than true and honest hearts require, From then till noon no foot should pace the street, They feel the calm delight, and thus proceed No eye look down, she passing; but that all Through the green lane, then linger in the mead, Should keep within, door shut, and window barred. Stray o'er the heath in all its purple bloom,
Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there And pluck the blossom where the wild-bees hum; Unclasped the wedded eagles of her belt, Then through the broomy bound with ease they pass, The grim Earl's gift; but ever at a breath And press the sandy sheep-walk's slender grass, She lingered, looking like a summer moon Where dwarfish flowers among the gorse are spread, Half-dipt in cloud: anon she shook her head, And the lamb browses by the linnet's bed;
And showered the rippled ringlets to her knee; Then 'cross the bounding brook they make their way Unclad herself in haste; adown the stair O'er its rough bridge, and there behold the bay; Stole on; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid The ocean smiling to the fervid sun,
From pillar unto pillar, until she reached The waves that faintly fall, and slowly run,
The gateway; there she found her palfrey trapt The ships at distance, and the boats at hand; In purple blazoned with armorial gold. And now they walk upon the sea-side sand,
Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity: Counting the number, and what kind they bi, The deep air listened round her as she rode,