Alas! thou foolish one,-alike unfit MEETING AGAIN. By OWEN MEREDITH. YES; I remember the white rose. And since then the young ivy has grown; From your window we could not reach it, and now it is over the stone. We did not part as we meet, dear. Well, Time hath its own stern cures ! And Alice's eyes are deeper, and her hair has grown like yours. Is our greeting all so strange then? But there's something here amiss, When it is not well to speak kindly. And the olives are ripe by this. I had not thought you so alter'd. But all is changed, God knows! Good-night. It is night so soon now. Look there! you have dropp'd your rose. Nay, I have one that is wither'd and dearer to me, I came To say good-night, little Alice. She does not remember my name. It is but the damp that is making my head and my heart ache so. I never was strong in the old time, as the others were, you know. And you'll sleep well, will you not, darling? The old words sound so dear! 'Tis the last time I shall use them; you need show neither anger nor fear. It is well that you look so cheerful. And is time to smooth with you? How foolish I am! Good-night, dear. And bid Alice goodnight too. THE VOICE OF DEPARTED FRIENDSHIP. By Professor WILSON. I HAD a friend who died in early youth! When my soul travels through the umbrage deep Methinks I hear his voice! sweet as the breath Of balmy ground-flowers, stealing from some spot Of sunshine sacred, in a gloomy wood, To everlasting spring. In the churchyard Where now he sleeps--the day before he died, Till gently laying his pale hand on mine, "Weep not, my brother! though thou seest me led By short and easy stages, day by day, With motion almost imperceptible Into the quiet grave. God's will be done. My soul oft sate within the shadow of death! I wept! and thought how sad for one so young But Christ hath called me from this lower world, -And oh without them who could bear the storms That fall in roaring blackness o'er the waters All round our sinking souls like those fair birds To some calm island! on whose silvery strand LITTLE LILYBELL. A delicious lyric by GERALD MASSEY. WHEN unseen fingers part the leaves, And earth her breast of glory heaves, And like a blessed bird of calm, Our love's sweet wants she still'd; Made passion's fiery wine run balm, From dappled dawn to twinkling dark, Our witching Ariel Moves through our heaven! O, like a lark Sings little Lilybell! And she is fair-O, very fair! With eyes so like the dove; And lightly leans her world of care Upon our arms of love! It cannot be that ye will break The promise-tale ye tell; Ye will not make such fond hearts ache, As on Life's stream her leaflets spread, We shudder lest the awful dead Pluck at her from below! Breathe faint and low, ye winds that start; Your every motion smites the heart We tremble lest the Angel Death, O, many a year may come and go, Such stream shall flow, such flower shall blow, Ah, when her dear heart fills with fears, I marvel, sweet, if we shall see How rich love made the lowly sod, Dear God! that gave the blessed trust, And morn and eve bedew our dust, HALLOWED GROUND. By THOMAS CAMPBELL. WHAT'S hallow'd ground? Has earth a clod That's hallow'd ground-where, mourn'd and miss'd, No! in ourselves their souls exist, A kiss can consecrate the ground Where mated hearts are mutual bound: Is hallow'd down to earth's profound, For time makes all but true love old; Until the heart itself be cold In Lethe's pool. What hallows ground where heroes sleep? Or Genii twine beneath the deep But strew his ashes to the wind Whose sword or voice has served mankind- Lifts thine on high? To live in hearts we leave behind, Is not to die. |