I shall not forget you, mother; I shall hear you when you

pass,

With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant

grass.

IX.

I've been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me now; You'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow; Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild; You should not fret for me, mother-you have another child.

say, And be often, often with

X.

If I can, I'll come again, mother, from out my restingplace;

Though you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your

face;

Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you

you when you

think I'm far away.

XI.

Good-night! good-night! when I have said good-night for

evermore,

And you see me carried out from the threshold of the door,

Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green

She'll be a better child to you than ever I have been.

XII.

She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor.
Let her take 'em-they are hers; I shall never garden more,

But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush that I set

About the parlour window, and the box of mignonnette.

XIII.

Good-night, sweet mother! Call me before the day is born.

All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn;
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year-
So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear.

CONCLUSION.

I.

I THOUGHT to pass away before, and yet alive I am;
And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of the lamb.
How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the year!
To die before the snowdrop came, and now the violet's here.

II.

O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies; And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that cannot rise;

And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers that blow;

And sweeter far is death than life, to me that long to go.

III.

It seemed so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed sun, And now it seems as hard to stay; and yet, His will be done!

But still I think it can't be long before I find release;
And that good man, the clergyman, has told me words of

peace.

IV.

O blessings on his kindly voice, and on his silver hair!
And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet me there!
O blessings on his kindly heart and on his silver head!
A thousand times I blest him, he knelt beside my bed.

V.

He showed me all the mercy, for he taught me all the sin; Now, though my lamp was lighted late, there's One will

let me in.

Nor would I now be well, mother, again, if that could be; For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for me.

VI.

And

I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death-watch beat

There came a sweeter token when the night and morning meet;

But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand in mine, And Effie on the other side, and I will tell the sign.

VII.

All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels call-
It was when the moon was setting, and the dark was over all;
The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll,
And in the wild March-morning I heard them call my
soul.

VIII.

For lying broad awake, I thought of you and Effie dear;
I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here;
With all my strength I prayed for both-and so I felt re-

signed,

up the valley came a swell of music on the wind.

IX.

I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in my bed; And then did something speak to me I know not what was said;

For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind, And up the valley came again the music on the wind.

X.

1

But you were sleeping; and I said, "It's not for themit's mine;"

And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it for a sign. And once again it came, and close beside the window-bars— Then seemed to go right up to Heaven and die among the

stars.

XI.

So now I think my time is near; I trust it is. I know
The blessed music went that way my soul will have to go.
And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day;
But Effie, you must comfort her when I am past away.

XII.

And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not to fret;
There's many
worthier than I would make him happy yet.
If I had lived-I cannot tell—I might have been his wife;
But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life.

XIII.

O look! the sun begins to rise! the heavens are in a glow; He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know. And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine

Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine.

XIV.

O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done,
The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the sun-
Forever and forever with those just souls and true-
And what is life, that we should moan? why make we
such ado?

rest.

XV.

Forever and forever, all in a blessed home,

And there to wait a little while till you and Effie come— To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon your breast—- . And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at

LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE.

LADY Clara Vere de Vere,

Of me you shall not win renown:
You thought to break a country heart
For pastime, ere you went to town.
At me you smiled, but unbeguiled

I saw the snare, and I retired:
The daughter of a hundred Earls,
You are not one to be desired.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

I know you proud to bear your name,
Your pride is yet no mate for mine,

Too proud to care from whence I came.
Nor would I break for your sweet sake
A heart that dotes on truer charms.