To bathe his brow. At last the fane was reach'd,
The earth's one sanctuary—and rapture hush'd
Her bosom, as before her, through the day,
It rose, a mountain of white marble, steep'd
In light like floating gold. But when that hour
Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy
Lifted, through rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye
Beseechingly to hers, and half in fear

Turn'd from the white-robed priest, and round her arm
Clung even as joy clings-the deep spring-tide
Of nature then swell'd high, and o'er her child
Bending, her soul broke forth, in mingled sounds
Of weeping and sad song." Alas!" she cried,-
"Alas! my boy, thy gentle grasp is on me;
The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes;
And now fond thoughts arise,

And silver cords again to earth have won me;
And like a vine thou claspest my full heart

How shall I hence depart?

"How the lone paths retrace where thou wert playing So late along the mountains, at my side?

And I, in joyous pride,

By every place of flowers my course delaying,
Wove, e'en as pearls, the lilies round thy hair,

Beholding thee so fair!

"And, oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted, Will it not seem as if the sunny day

Turn'd from its door away?

While through its chambers wandering, weary hearted, I languish for thy voice, which past me still

Went like a singing rill?

"Under the palm trees thou no more shalt meet me, When from the fount at evening I return,

With the full water-urn;

Nor will thy sleep's low dove-like breathings greet me, As 'midst the silence of the stars I wake,

And watch for thy dear sake.

"And thou, will slumber's dewy cloud fall round thee, Without thy mother's hand to smooth thy bed?

Wilt thou not vainly spread

Thine arms, when darkness as a veil hath wound thee, To fold my neck, and lift up, in thy fear,

A cry which none shall hear?

"What have I said, my child! - Will He not hear thee, Who the young ravens heareth from their nest?

Shall He not guard thy rest,

And, in the hush of holy midnight near thee,
Breathe o'er thy soul, and fill thy dreams with joy?
Thou shalt sleep soft, my boy.

"I give thee to thy God- -the God that gave thee, A well-spring of deep gladness, to my heart!

And, precious as thou art,

And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee,
My own, my beautiful, my undefiled!

And thou shalt be His child.

"Therefore, farewell!-I go, my soul may fail me,
As the hart panteth for the water brooks,
Yearning for thy sweet looks.

But thou, my first-born, droop not, nor bewail me;
Thou in the Shadow of the Rock shalt dwell,

The Rock of Strength. — Farewell !”

NO MORE.

No more! a harp-string's deep and breaking tone,
A last low summer breeze, a far-off swell,

A dying echo of rich music gone,

Breathe through those words—those murmurs of farewell;

No more!

To dwell in peace, with home affections bound,
To know the sweetness of a mother's voice,
To feel the spirit of her love around,

And in the blessing of her eye rejoice—

No more!

A dirge-like sound! to greet the early friend
Unto the hearth, his place of many days;
In the glad song with kindred lips to blend,

Or join the household laughter by the blaze-
No more!

Through woods that shadow'd our first years to rove,

With all our native music in the air;

To watch the sunset with the eyes we love,

And turn, and read our own heart's answer there

No more!

Words of despair! yet earth's, all earth's-the woe
Their passion breathes - the desolately deep!
That sound in Heaven-oh! image then the flow

Of gladness in its tones

to part, to weep-
No more!

To watch, in dying hope, affection's wane,
To see the beautiful from life depart,
To wear impatiently a secret chain,

To waste the untold riches of the heart

No more!

Through long, long years to seek, to strive, to yearn For human love- and never quench that thirst,

To pour the soul out, winning no return,

O'er fragile idols, by delusion nursed

No more

On things that fail us, reed by reed, to lean,
To mourn the changed, the far away, the dead;
To send our troubled spirits through the unseen
Intensely questioning for treasures fled -

No more!

Words of triumphant music - bear we on

The weight of life, the chain, the ungenial air; Their deathless meaning, when our tasks are done, To learn in joy;-to struggle, to despair

No more!

THE MESSENGER BIRD.

THOU art come from the spirits' land, thou bird!
Thou art come from the spirits' land:

Through the dark pine grove let thy voice be heard,
And tell of the shadowy band!

We know that the bowers are green and fair
In the light of that summer shore,

And we know that the friends we have lost are there, and they weep no more!

They are there

And we know they have quench'd their fever's thirst
From the Fountain of youth ere now,

For there must the stream in its freshness burst
Which none may find below!

And we know that they will not be lured to earth
From the land of deathless flowers,

By the feast, or the dance, or the song of mirth,
Though their hearts were once with ours:

Though they sat with us by the night-fire's blaze,
And bent with us the bow,

And heard the tales of our fathers' days,
Which are told to others now!

But tell us, thou bird of the solemn strain !
Can those who have love forget?

We call and they answer not again—

Do they love-do they love us yet?