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And when she awakened, she lay her lane,
All happed with flowers in the green-wood wene.
When seven lang years had come and fled;
When grief was calm, and hope was dead;
When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name,
Late, late in a gloamin Kilmeny came hame!
And O, her beauty was fair to see,
But still and stedfast was her ee!
Such beauty bard may never declare,
For there was no pride nor passion there;
And the soft desire of maiden's een
In that mild face could never be seen.
Her seymar was the lily flower,
And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower;
And her voice like the distant metodye,
That floats along the twilight sea.
But she loved to nuke the lanely glen,
And keeped afar frae the haunts of men;
Her holy hymns unheard to sing,
To suck the flowers, and drink the spring.
But wherever her peaceful form appeared,
The wild beasts of the hill were cheered;
The wolf played blythly round the field,
The lordly byson lowed and kneeled;
The dun deer wooed with manner bland,
And cowered aneath her lily hand.
And when at even the woodlands rung,
When hymns of other worlds she sung
In ecstacy of sweet devotion,
O, then the glen was all in motion!
The wild beasts of the forest came,
Broke from their bughts and t'aulds the tame,
And goved around, charmed and amazed;'
Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed,
And murmured and looked with anxious pain
For something the mystery to explain.
The buzzard came with the throstle-cock;
The corby left her houf in the rock;
The blackbird alang wi' the eagle flew;
The hind came tripping o'er the dew;
The wolf and the kid their raike began, '..
And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran;
The hawk and the hem attour them hung,
And the merl and the mavis forhooyed their young;
And all in a peaceful ring were hurled:
It was like an eve in a sinless world!
. ''. . r . . ..'.!
When a month and a day had come and gane,
But 0, the words that fell from her mouth,
Were words of wonder, and words of truth!
But all the land were in fear and dread,
For they kendna whether she was living or dead.
It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain;
She left this world of sorrow and pain,
And returned to the land of thought again.
ON A TEAR.
Oh that the chemist's magic art
Could crystallize this sacred treasure!
Long should it glitter near my heart,
The little brilliant, ere it fell,
Its lustre caught from Chloe's eye;
Then, trembling, left its coral cell—
Sweet drop of pure and pearly light I
More calmly clear, more mildly bright,
Benign restorer of the soul,
Who ever fliest to bring relief, When first we feel the rude control
Of love or pity, joy or grief.
The sage's and the poet's theme,
In every clime, in every age; Thou charm'st in fancy's idle dream,
In reason's philosophic page.
That very law which moulds a tear,
That law preserves the earth a sphere,
Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom,
And oft by yon bine gushing stream,
Shall sorrow lean her drooping head,
And lingering pause, and lightly tread,
Away!—we know that tears are vain,
Will this unteach us to complain,
Or make one mourner weep the less?
And thou, who tell'st me to foi-get,
Thy looks are wan—thy eyes are wet!
A FUNERAL HYMN.
Beneath our feet, and o'er our head,
Is equal warning given; Beneath us lie the countless dead,
Above us is the heaven!
Their names are graven on the stone,
And ere another day is done,