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What joyous hopes, what high resolves,
What generous strife!
And so much gone!-
Moves calmly on.
Above that head:
Says he is dead.
That sing above
The form we love.
Where hast thou been this
beloved? What hast thou seen? What visions fair, what glorious life,
Where thou hast been!
The veil, the veil-so thin, so strong
'Twixt us and thee!
That we may see?
• But present still,
Of God's sweet will!
Our Saviour dear,
WILLIAM JEWETT PABODIE. [Born about 1815. A barrister, principally known as author of Calidore, a Legendary Poem, published in 1839].
ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.
GONE in the flush of youth! Gone ere thy heart had felt earth's withering care : Ere the stern world had soiled thy spirit's truth,
Or sown dark sorrow there.
Fied like a dream away!
Sighs round thy lonely tomb.
Fond hearts were beating high,
Talked of thy glad return.
They watched—not all in vainThy form once more the wonted threshold passed; But choking sobs, and tears like summer rain,
Welcomed thee home at last.
Friend of my youth, farewell!
Another formed for heaven.
EPES SARGENT, [Born in 1816. He began writing for the stage at an early age ; his drama of The Bride of Genoa having been acted in 1836, and his most admired tragedy, Velasco, in 1837].
Though wrapped in all the storm-clouds of the north, Yet from thy home of ice, come forth, O breeze, come
FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD. [Born in 1816, daughter of a merchant named Locke ; died some years ago. Towards 1835 she married the painter Mr. Osgood, and the earlier years of their wedded life were passed in England. Mrs. Osgood published various miscellaneous writings and compilations, frequently using the pseudonym of “Florence "].
THE SOUL'S LAMENT FOR HOME.
Far from its own remembered sea,
Of love, the charmed melody
Whose wondrous and mysterious tone
Of pearl, with softest riusic-moan-
So asks my homesick soul below
For something loved, yet undefined ; So mourns to mingle with the flow
Of music from the Eternal Mind; So murmurs, with its childlike sigh,
The melody it learned above. To which no echo may reply,
Save from thy voice, Celestial Love !
BIANCA. A WHISPER woke the air,
A soft light tone, and low,
Nor farther go!
Caught up the little, meaning soundAnother voice has breathed it clear
And so it wandered round From ear to lip, from lip to ear, Until it reached a gentle heart That throbbed from all the world apart,
And that--it broke !
It was the only heart it found-
When first its accents woke.
And that-it broke !
Low as it seemed to other ears,
And thus her heart, unused to shame,
Shrined in its lily, too
(For who the maid that knew
ANNE CHARLOTTE LYNCH.
[Miss Lynch, born towards 1816, is the daughter of one of the “United Irishmen,” who, having joined the Rebellion of 1798, was banished for life after four years' imprisonment. She is a mis. cellaneous writer in prose as well as verse].
TO THE SAVIOUR.
On thou who once on earth beneath the weight
Of our mortality didst live and move,
The incarnation of profoundest love;
Whose deep and ample fulness could embrace
The poorest, meanest, of our fallen race: How shall we e'er that boundless debt repay ?
By long loud prayers in gorgeous temples said?
By rich oblations on thine altars laid ?
When thou wast bowed our human woe beneath,
Then as a legacy thou didst bequeath Earth's sorrowing children to our ministryAnd as we do to them we do to thee.