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And thus 'twas thine to prove, dear habe,

When every hope was lost,
Ten times more precious to my soul,

For all that thou hadst cost!

Cradled in thy fair mother's arms,

We watched thee, day by day,
Pale like the second bow of heaven,

As gently waste away ;
And, sick with dark foreboding fears

We dared not breathe aloud,
Sat hand in hand, in speechless grief,

To wait death’s coming cloud !

It came at length : o'er thy bright blue eye

The film was gathering fast,
And an awful shade passed o'er thy brow-

The deepest and the last :
In thicker gushes strove thy breath-

We raised thy drooping head:
A moment more-the final pang-

And thou wert of the dead!

Thy gentle mother turned away,

To hide her face from me, And murmured low of Heaven's behests,

And bliss attained by thee:
She would have chid me that I mourned

A doom so bless'd as thine,
Had not her own deep grief burst forth

In tears as wild as mine!

We laid thee down in thy quiet rest,

And from thine infant brow
Culled one soft lock of radiant hair-

Our only solace now;
Then placed around thy beauteous corse,

Flowers, not more fair and sweetTwin rose-buds in thy little hands,

And jasmine at thy feet.

And Fate descend in sudden night

On manhood's middle day.

Turn, mortal, turn! thy danger know;

Where'er thy foot can tread,
The earth rings hollow from below,

And warns thee of her dead !
Turn, Christian, turn! thy soul apply

To truths divinely given ;-
The bones that underneath thee lie
Shall live for Hell or Heaven!

HEBER.

THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.

SOMEWHAT back from the village street
Stands the old-fashioned country seat.
Across its antique portico
Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw;
And from its station in the hall
An ancient time-piece says to all, -

“For ever-never !
Never-for ever!”

Half way up the stairs it stands,
And points and beckons with its hands,
From its case of massive oak,
Like a monk, who, under his cloak,
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas !
With sorrowful voice to all who pass,-

“For ever-never!
Never—for ever!”

By day its voice is low and light;
But in the silent dead of night,
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall,
It echoes along the vacant hall,
Along the ceiling, along the floor,
And seems to say, at each chamber-door,-

“For ever-never !

Never--for ever !"

Through days of sorrow and of mirth,
Through days of death and days of birth,
Through every swift vicissitude
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood;
And as if, like God, it all things saw,
It calmly repeats those words of awe,-

“For ever-never !

Never-for ever!”

In that mansion used to be
Free-hearted Hospitality;
His great fires up the chimney roared ;
The stranger feasted at his board;
But, like the skeleton at the feast,
That warning time-piece never ceased, -

“For ever-never !
Never-for ever!"

There groups of merry children played;
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed;
O precious hours ! O golden prime,
And affluence of love and time!
Even as a miser counts his gold,
Those hours the ancient time-piece told,-

“ For ever-never!

Never-for ever!”

From that chamber, clothed in white,
The bride came forth on her wedding night;
There, in that silent room below,
The dead lay in his shroud of snow !
And in the hush that followed the prayer
Was heard the old clock on the stair,

“For ever-never !

Never-for ever !”

All are scattered now and fled-
Some are married, some are dead;
And when I ask, with throbs of pain,
“Ah! when shall they all meet again ?"

As in the days long since gone by,
The ancient time-piece makes reply,-

“For ever-never !
Never-for ever!"

Never here, for ever there,
Where all parting, pain, and care,
And death, and time shall disappear,-
For ever there, but never here!
The horologe of Eternity
Sayeth this incessantly,-

“For ever-never!
Never-for ever!”

LONGFELLOW.

ноРЕ.

WHITE as a white sail on a dusky sea,
When half the horizon's clouded and half free,
Fluttering between the dun wave and the sky,
Is Hope's last gleam in man’s extremity.
Her anchor parts; but still her snowy sail
Attracts our eye amidst the rudest gale-
Though every wave she climbs divides us more,
The heart still follows from the loneliest shore.

Byron.

LOCHINVAR. Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west ! Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; And save his good broadsword he weapon had noneHe rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone! So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar!

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented—the gallant came late;

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar!

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, 'Mong bride's men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all! Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his swordFor the poor craven bridegroom said never a word: “O come ye in peace here, or come ye in warOr to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?

“I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied :
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide!
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine!
There be maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
Who would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar!"

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup!
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh-
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar-
“Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace !
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,
And the bride-maidens whispered, “'Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar!"

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood

near, So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! “She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow !” quoth young

Lochinvar.

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