THE DYING GERTRUDE TO WALDEGRAVE. WE parted in silence, we parted by night,

FROM "GERTRUDE OF WYOMING." On the banks of that lonely river ;

CLASP me a little longer on the brink Where the fragrant limes their boughs unite, Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress ; We met - and we parted forever!

And when this heart hath ceased to beat, -- 0, The night-bird sung, and the stars above

think, Told many a touching story

And let it mitigate thy woe's excess,
Of friends long passed to the kingdom of love, That thou hast been to me all tenderness,
Where the soul wears its mantle of glory.

And friend to more than human friendship just.

0, by that retrospect of happiness, We parted in silence, — our cheeks were wet And by the hopes of an immortal trust,

With the tears that were past controlling; God shall assuage thy pangs, when I am laid in We vowed we would never, no, never forget,

And those vows at the time were consoling;
But those lips that echoed the sounds of mine Go, Henry, go not back, when I depart,
Are as cold as that lonely river;

The scene thy bursting tears too deep will move, And that eye, that beautiful spirit's shrine,

Where my dear father took thee to his heart, Has shrouded its fires forever.

And Gertrude thought it ecstasy to rove

With thee, as with an angel, through the grove And now on the midnight sky I look,

Of peace, imagining her lot was cast And my heart grows full of weeping;

In heaven; for ours was not like eartlıly love. Each star is to me a sealed book,

And must this parting be our very last ? Some tale of that loved one keeping.

No! I shall love thee still, when death itself is We parted in silence, -- we parted in tears,

past. On the banks of that lonely river: But the odor and bloom of those bygone years

Half could I bear, methinks, to leave this Shall hang o'er its waters forever.

earth, -

And thee, more loved than aught beneath the MRS. CRAWFORD.


If I had lived to smile but on the birth PEACE! WHAT CAN TEARS AVAIL?

Of one dear pledge; -- but shall there then be

none, PEACE! what can tears avail ?

In future time, -- 110 gentle little one, She lies all dumb and pale,

To clasp thy neck, and look, resembling me ? And from her eye

Yet seems it, even while life's last pulses run, The spirit of lovely life is fading,

A sweetness in the cup of death to be, And she must die !

Lord of my bosom's love! to die beholding thee ! Why looks the lover wroth, --- the friend upbraid

TIIOMAS CAMPBELL. ing? Reply, reply!

Hath she not dwelt too long
Midst pain, and grief, and wrong?

YES! there are real mourners, -- I have seen Then why not die ?

A fair sad girl, mild, suffering, and serene; Why suffer again her doom of sorrow,

Attention (through the day) her duties claimed, And hopeless lie ?

And to be useful as resigned she aimed ; Why nurse the trembling dream until to-inorrow ?

Neatly she drest, nor vainly seemed t expect Reply, reply !

| Pity for grief, or pardon for neglect;

But when her wearied parents sunk to sleep, Death ! Take her to thine arms,

She sought her place to meditate and weep ; In all her stainless charms !

Then to her mind was all the past displayed, And with her fly

That faithful memory brings to sorrow's aid : To heavenly haunts, where, clad in brightness,

For then she thought on one regretted youth, The angels lie !

Her tender trust, and his unquestioned truth ; Wilt bear her there, 0 death! in all her white

In every place she wandered, where they 'd been, ness ?

And sadly-sacred held the parting scene, Reply, reply?

Where last for sea he took his leave ; that place BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (BARRY CORNWALL). | With double interest would she nightly trace !

With a


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Happy he sailed, and great the care she took 1 She placed a decent stone his grave above, That he should softly sleep and smartly look; Neatly engraved, - an offering of her love : White was his better linen, and his check For that she wrought, for that forsook her bed, Was made more trim than any on the deck; Awake alike to duty and the dead ; And every comfort men at sea can know

She would have grieved, had friends presumed to Was hers to buy, to make, and to bestow :

spare For he to Greenland sailed, and much she told, The least assistance, - 't was her proper care. How he should guard against the climate's cold ; Here will she come, and on the grave will sit, Yet saw not danger ; dangers he'd withstood, Folding her arms, in long abstracted fit : Nor could she trace the fever in his blood. But if observer pass, will take her round,

His messmates smiled at flushings on his cheek, And careless seem, for she would not be found ; And he too smiled, but seldom would he speak ; Then go again, and thus her hours employ, For now he found the danger, felt the pain, While visions please her, and while woes destroy. With grievous symptoms he could not explain.

GEORGE CRABBE. He called his friend, and prefaced with a sigh A lover's message, - “ Thomas, I must die;

FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER Would I could see my Sally, and could rest My throbbing temples on her faithful breast, FAREWELL ! — but whenever you welcome the And gazing go ! --- if not, this trifle take,

hour And say, till death I wore it for her sake: That awakens the night-song of mirth in your Yes! I must die -- blow on, sweet breeze, blow on! bower, Give me one look before my life be gone ! Then think of the friend who once welcomed it 0, give me that, and let me not despair ! One last fond look!-- and now repeat the And forgot his own griefs, to be happy with you. prayer.”

His griefs may return -- not a hope may remain He had his wish, had more : I will not paint Of the few that have brightened his pathway of The lovers' meeting ; she beheld him faint,

pain With tender fears, she took a nearer view, | But he ne'er can forget the short vision that threw Her terrors doubling as her hopes withdrew ; Its enchantment around him while lingering with He tried to smile; and, half succeeding, said, I you ! "Yes! I must die" -- and hope forever fled. Still, long she nursed him ; tender thoughts | And still on that evening when Pleasure fills up meantime

To the highest top sparkle each heart and each Were interchanged, and hopes and views sublime.

cup, To her he came to die, and every day

| Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, She took some portion of the dread away ; My soul, happy friends! will be with you that With him she prayed, to him his Bible read, night; Soothed the faint heart, and held the aching Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your head :

wiles, She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer, And return to me, beaming all o'er with your Apart she sighed ; alone, she shed the tear;

smiles !Then, as if breaking from a cloud, she gave

| Too blest if it tell me that, mid the gay cheer, Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave. Some kind voice has murmured, “I wish he were

One day he lighter seemed, and they forgot here!”
The care, the dread, the anguish of their lot. | Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
A sudden brightness in his look appeared, Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot
A sudden vigor in his voice was heard ;

She had been reading in the Book of Prayer, Which come, in the night-time of sorrow and
And led him forth, and placed him in his chair. care,
Lively he seemed, and spake of all he knew, And bring back the features which joy used to
The friendly many, and the favorite few ;

wear. . . . . . but then his hand she prest, Long, long be my heart with such memories filled! And fondly whispered, “Thou must go to rest.” | Like the vase in which roses have once been dis“I go,” he said ; but as he spoke, she found i tilled His hand more cold, and fluttering was the You may break, you may ruin the vase, if you

sound; Then gazed affrighted; but she caught a last, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. A dying look of love, and all was past !



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I'VE wandered east, I've wandered west,

Through mony a weary way;
But never, never can forget

The luve o life's young day !
The fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en

May weel be black gin Yule ;
But blacker fa' awaits the heart

Where first fond luve grows cule.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,

LOVE'S MEMORY. FROM "ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL." I AM undone : there is no living, none, Il Bertram be away. It were all one, That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it, he is so above me : In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself : The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague, To see him ev'ry hour ; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table, — heart too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favor : But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his relics.


Still fling their shadows ower my path,

And blind my een wi' tears : They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears,

And sair and sick I pine, As memory idly summons up

The blithe blinks o' langsyne.

’T was then we luvit ilk ither weel,

'T was then we twa did part; Sweet time--sad time! twa bairns at scule,

Twa bairns, and but ae heart ! ’T was then we sat on ae laigh bink,

To leir ilk ither lear; And tones and looks and smiles were shed,

Remembered evermair.


0, SAW ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o'er the border ? She 's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,

And love but her forever ; For nature made her what she is,

I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,

When sitting on that bink, Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof,

What our wee heads could think.
When baith bent doun ower ae braid page,

Wi' ae buik on our knee,
Thy lips were on thy lesson, but

My lesson was in thee.

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,

Thy subjects we, before thee; Thou art divine, fair Lesley,

The hearts o' men adore thee.

The deil he could na scaith thee,

Or aught that wad belang thee ; He ?d look into thy bonnie face,

And say “I canna wrang thee!”

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