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Then, when thou walkest on the hills,
Or in the woods apart,
Remember that the earth hath got
Almost a human heart.
The joy and grief of centuries
Have so much dark and bright
That they constrain earth's pulse to beat
Alternate day and night.
Sweet Alice when thy blameless past,
Shall enter this old earth,
The world will find, and know not why,
More calmness in her mirth.
BY THE Rev. Thomas why TEHEAD.
I RoaMED through many a city proud
That crowns old Rhine's historic plain,
A pilgrimage my heart had vowed
ong time to royal Carlomain.
And things whereof my youth had dreamed, Were given unto my eager sight,
Some brighter than my thoughts had deemed, And some that scarcely seemed so bright.
And now, for I was all alone,
My English heart was homeward turning,
When by a gate of sculptured stone,
I sate me down one sunny morning.
It led into a garden bright
Within a roofless castle's bound, .
Whose silent halls and towers of might
Girded a mossy terrace round.
And kings did from their niches look,
And I, their dwelling's lonely ranger,
The sadness of the scene partook
And felt me desolate and a stranger.
In such low mood it chanced I gazed,
Where o'er the arch a tablet saith
How Frederic had that garden raised
For his young bride Elizabeth.
That name had sacred powers to wake
Such thoughts in me as could none other,
If 'twere but for the honored sake -
Of her and of her martyred brother.
For she was child of England's king,
And to her home beyond the water,
A high-enduring soul did bring,
As might beseem a Stuart's daughter.
And many an uncomplaining year
She bore her heritage of woes;
But 'twas more dear a memory yet
Which at that name's sweet bidding rose.
Thou gentle soul, so early gone !
'Twas thou didst look upon me then,
And I was glad I was alone,
A wanderer among foreign men.
Thou wert the first of all I knew
To pass unto the dead,
And Paradise hath seemed more true,
And come down closer to my view,
Since there thy presence fled.
The whispers of thy gentle soul
At silent lonely hours,
Like some sweet saint-bell's distant toll
Come o'er the waters as they roll
Betwixt thy world and ours.
Oh! still my spirit clings to thee
And feels thee at my side,
Like a green ivy, when the tree
It's shoots had clasped so lovingly,
Within its arms hath died:
And ever round that lifeless thing
Where first their clusters grew,
Close as while yet it lived they cling,
And shrine it in a second spring
Of lustre dark and new.
LORD WELLESLEY'S EPITAPH.
The following Latin lines were noritten by Lord Wellesley, for his own
Epitaph, and given to Dr. Goodall, Provost of Eton College.
* TITULUM PROPRIO SEPULCHRO INSCRIBENDUM.
“Fortunæ rerumque vagis exercitus undis,
“In gremium redeo, serus, Etona, tuum :
“Magna sequi, et summae minari culmina fame,
“Et purum antiquae lucis adire jubar,
“Auspice te didici puer; atque in limine vitae
“Ingenuas veræ laudis amare vias.
“Siqua meum vitae decursu gloria nomen
“Auxerit, aut siquis mobilitaret honos,
“Muneris, Alma, tui est: altrix da terra sepulchrum,
“Supremam lacrymam da! memoremgue mei?
“Kingston-house, January 5, 1842.”
“THRo' life on fortune's varied waters cast,
“To Eton's bosom I return at last—
“By her in childhood taught the steep to climb
“Of lofty fame—to search the ‘olden time'—
“And, led by virtue's pure and fostering rays,
“To track the ascending path of well-earned praise.
“If glory's beams have played around my name,
“And made me soar aloft on wings of fame—
“Nurse of my youth ! the praise be wholly thine!
“The peaceful nook of earth and parting tear be mine !"
ON A MONUMENT BY SIR F. CHANTRY IN LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL.
This cannot be the sleep of death,
Or sure it must be sweet to die;
So soft, this holy roof beneath,
On such a quiet couch to lie.
Each gently pressing, gently prest,
To slumber in each other's arms;
This shrinking to her sister's breast,
For shelter from all earth's alarms,
With such entire and perfect rest,
That e'en in sleep she seems to say,
“I shall rest safe, I know I must,
My Ellen holds me night and day.”
The other with maturer grace,
In dawn of thoughtful womanhood,
Half upwards turns her fair, meek face,
As if an angel o'er her stood.
As calm her brow, as sure her faith,
But more than infants use, she knew
(If right I guess) of life and death,
Of death and resurrection too.
Already now her ear began
The depth of solemn sound to trace,
The thrilling joys that round her ran,
When music filled this holy place.
Yon dark-arched galleries, high aloof,
The glory and the mystery
Of “long-drawn aisle” and vaulted roof
Already caught her wondering eye.
And she would gaze when morning's glow
Through yonder glorious panes was streaming,
As if in every niche below
Saints in their glory robes were gleaming.
To thee, dear maid, each kindly wile
Was known that elder sisters know,
To check th’ unseasonable smile
With warning hand and serious brow.