Here have I dwelt in glee, THE POWER OF THE DEAD. By MARY ANNE Browne. SAY not their power is o'er, Although their lips be mute, their limbs be still; Those silent forms the living heart may thrill. Who stands beside the bed, Where rests the icy corpse within its shroud, With which his soul ne'er to the living bow'd? The lowliest son of earth, The veriest babe that Death hath smitten down, To those who gaze upon them all unknown. An awful mystery, sealed From their sad eyes that weep beside their bier, To their unprison'd souls made plain and clear. They are the constant sign Of God's great truth-the dead, both great and small, Confirm his word divine, That all have sinn'd, and death hath pass'd on all. They are the seed from whence The harvest of the Lord shall fill the earth, Shall bring the myriads from her bosom forth. Say not their power is o'er Even when mingling in the lowly dust; For them our spirits pour An offering forth, in holy hope and trust. Where is the place of graves We deem not hallow'd? There is sanctity Its grasses tall, or stirs its willow-tree. Where'er some lonely mound Tells of the spot where mortal relics rest, Say not they have no power! Perhaps they were our enemies in life, But now hath come an hour, When endeth all the tumult and the strife. Another, mightier hand Hath still'd the opposer-anger now may cease; That with the dead our hearts should be at peace? And for the loved and lost, Their memories move us as nought else may move, When wildly tempest-tost, They to the soul as guiding stars may prove. And many a gentle word Of precious counsel, all too long despised, Now to be thought upon, and weigh'd and prized. And when the wayward heart Doubts how it shall some dark temptation shun; They may decide its part "So will we do, for so would they have done.” Say not they are no more, Those who the heart with reverence thus can fill; Say not their power is o'er When thus its traces are around us still! TELL ME NO MORE. By CHARLES MACKAY. TELL me no more amid these silent mountains, Leave me alone one day, with Nature's beauty- If it be true that love is born to sorrow, That hope deceives, and friendship fades awayLet the sad wisdom slumber till to-morrow, Nor stand between me and this summer-day. If I am free to dive in truth's deep ocean, Pearls for the diver battling with the billows! For me, this day, a harp upon the willows, TO FANNY ANN. By EBENEZER ELLIOTT. As the flower bloweth, Raindrops on roses! THE LOVE OF ORION AND DIANA. A fine passage in H. HORNE's dramatic poem Orion. The dark-mouth'd cavern where Orion lay Behind the mountain peaks, pale Artemis left But shunn'd them and their ways, and slept alone RESIGNATION. Translated from the German of SCHILLER, by Sir E. B. BULWER LYTTON. AND I, too, was amidst Arcadia born, And nature seem'd to woo me; And to my cradle such sweet joys were sworn; And I, too, was amidst Arcadia born, Yet the short spring gave only tears unto me! Life but one blooming holiday can keep— For me the bloom is fled; The silent genius of the darker sleep Turns down my torch—and weep, my brethren, weep— Weep, for the light is dead! Upon thy bridge the shadows round me press, O dread Eternity! And I have known no moment that can bless ;- The seal's unbroken-see! Before thee, Judge, whose eyes the dark-spun veil On this our orb a glad belief prevails, That, thine the earthly sceptre and the scales, Terrors, they say, thou dost for vice prepare, Thou canst the crooked heart unmask and bare; And keep account with woe. With thee a home smiles for the exiled one There ends the thorny strife. Unto my side a godlike vision won, Call'd Truth, (few know her, and the many shun), And check'd the reins of life. "I will repay thee in a holier land— Give thou to me thy youth; All I can grant thee lies in this command." "Give me thy Laura-give me her whom love The usurer, Bliss, pays every grief-above! "What bond can bind the dead to life once more? Poor fool" (the scoffer cries); "Gull'd by the despot's hireling lie, with lore That gives for truth a shadow ;-life is o'er |