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MY FRIENDS,

207

My Friends.

WITH conscious pride, I view the band
Of faithful friends that round me stand;
With pride exult that I alone
Can join these scatter'd gems in one;
For they're a wreath of pearls, and I
The silken cord on which they lie.

"Tis mine their inmost souls to see;
Unlock'd is every heart to me;
To me they cling--on me they rest,
And I've a place in every breast;
For they're a wreath of pearls, and I
The silken cord on which they lie!

Sonnet.

FROM THE ITALIAN OF PETRARCH.

IF e'er I hear the plaint of birds, or sound
Of green leaves stirred by the soft summer air,
Or rush of sparkling waters as they bound
Through grassy banks, with golden flowers

fair;

As sad I sit and muse of love and write-
I hear, I know, I see before my eyes
Her whom Heaven gave, but earth now hides
from sight.

Living, she answers from afar my sighs:

"Why art thou wasted ere thy time with grief?” Gently she says, "Why stream those bitter tears? Weep not for me-dying, I changed my brief And transient moments for immortal years; Seeming to close my eyes in deepest night, I opened them to everlasting light!"

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COME from

Charade.

my first! ay, come!

The battle dawn is nigh;

And the screaming trump and the thundering drum

Are calling thee to die!

Fight as thy father fought;

Fall as thy father fell;

Thy task is taught, thy shroud is wrought,

So forward; and farewell!

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Fling high the flambeau's light!

And sing the hymn for a parted soul

Beneath the silent night.

The wreath upon his head,

The cross upon his breast;

Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed,

So take him to his rest.

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