ON THE DEATH OF LORD BYRON.
THE harp of the Poet is silent in death
(That harp which so oft with love's witchery rung), Ne'er again shall it waken in magical breath,
Or sing in that grandeur which lately it sung.
Yes, the bard has " fell pale" in a far, foreign land, With "no mother to weep" o'er the patriot bier, Though honoured his corse by each freeman's command- Though hallowed his tomb by Achaia's cold tear.
He has left us all lonely in sorrow and sadness,
As the Sun shall depart when earth's reign is no more; He has left us in Spring without one thought of gladness, To wean us away from the "Childe" or the "Giaour."
Ah, long shall the lyre hang mute in the hall,
Ere it soar in those strains that in "Lara" it soared, Ah, long shall it rest in the " canopied fall,"
Ere it burst forth again as a conqueror's sword.
His name "for all time" shall be wreathed with green, And to Britons be dear as their country and kin- While the maid shall oft weep o'er his Haidee" unseen, Though they tell her the measure be woven in sin.
THE LAST FAREWELL.
COME, my brother, nearer, nearer, For my limbs are growing cold; And thy presence seemeth dearer When thy arms around me fold. I am dying, brother, dying;
Soon you'll miss me in your berth, For my form will soon be lying 'Neath the ocean's briny surf.
Hearken to me, brother, hearken, I have something I would say, Ere the veil my vision darken, And I go from hence away: I am going, surely going;-
But my hope in God is strong; I am willing, brother, knowing That He doeth nothing wrong.
my father, when you greet him, That in death I prayed for him; Prayed that I might one day meet him In a world that's free from sin. Tell my mother-(God assist her, Now that she is growing old)— Say her child would glad have kissed her Where his lips grew pale and cold.
Listen, brother, catch each whisper, 'Tis my wife I'd speak of now: Tell, oh tell her, how I missed her When the fever burned my brow! Tell her, brother-(closely listen, Don't forget a single word)- That in death my eyes did glisten With the tears her memory stirred. Tell her she must kiss my children, Like the kiss I last impressed; Hold them as when last I held them, Folded closely to my breast: Give them early to their Maker, Putting all their trust in God; And He never will forsake her, For He's said so in His Word.
my children! Heaven bless them, They were all my life to me;
Would I could once more caress them, Ere I sink beneath the sea!
"Twas for them I crossed the ocean- What my hopes were I'll not tell; But I've gained the better position; For He doeth all things well.
Tell my sisters I remember Every kindly parting word; And my heart has been kept tender By the thoughts their memory stirred.
Tell them I ne'er reached the haven Where I sought the precious dust; But I have got that better land, Where the gold will never rust.
Urge them to secure an entrance For they'll find their brother there; Faith in Jesus, and repentance, Will secure for each a share.
Hark! I hear my Saviour speaking- 'Tis His voice, I know it well,
When I am gone, oh! don't be weeping- Brother, here's my last farewell.
RAISE my pillow, husband dearest; Faint and fainter comes my breath, And these shadows stealing slowly, Must, I know, be those of death.
Sit down close beside me, darling; Let me clasp your warm, strong hand- Yours, that ever has sustained me, To the borders of this land.
For your God and mine-our Father- Thence shall ever lead me on, Where, upon a throne eternal, Sits his loved and only Son.
I've had visions, and been dreaming O'er the past of joy and pain; Year by year I've wandered backward, Till I was a child again—
Dreamed of girlhood, and the moment When I stood your wife and bride- How my heart thrilled with love's triumph In that hour of woman's pride!
Dreamed of thee-and all the earth-cords Firmly twined about my heart— Oh, the bitter burning anguish
When I knew that we must part!
It has passed, and God has promised All thy footsteps to attend; He, that's more than friend or brother, He'll be with you to the end.
There's no shadow o'er the portals Leading to my heavenly home; Christ hath promised life immortal And 'tis He that bids me come,
When life's trials wait around thee, And its chilling billows swell,
Thou'lt thank heaven that I am spared them, Thou'lt then feel that "all is well."
Bring our boys unto my bedside; My last blessing let them keep- But they're sleeping; do not wake them— They'll learn soon enough to weep.
Tell them often of their mother, Kiss them for me when they wake; Lead them gently in the pathway; Love them doubly for my sake.
Clasp my hand still closer, darling, This, the last night of my life; For to-morrow I shall never
Answer when you call me "wife."
Fare thee well, my noble husband; Faint not 'neath this chastening rod; Throw your strong arm round our children; Keep them close to thee-and God.
HALF-UNBELIEVING doth my heart remain of its great woe; I waken, and a dull dead sense of pain is all I know.
Then dimly in the darkness of my mind I feel about, To know what 'tis that troubles me, and find my sorrow out.
And hardly with long pains my heart I bring its loss to own: Still seems it so impossible a thing that thou art gone-
That not in all my life I evermore, with pleased ear, Thy quick light feet advancing to my door again shall hear—
That thou not ever with inquiring looks or subtle talk
Shalt bring to me sweet hindrance 'mid my books or studious walk
That whatsoever else of good for me in store remain,
This lieth out of hope, my child, to see thy face again.
My sad tears flow, and weep lost worth, My grief-filled bosom heaves with pain, To think, ah, bitter thought,-on earth I ne'er shall see his face again.
Ah, never more his manly voice Will mingle with the children's glee, Nor e'er again may I rejoice
At thought of him come back from sea.
For in the cold dark deep he lies, Who was so gentle, free, and brave, O'er his lone grave the sad wind sighs Where rolls the wild Atlantic wave.
Yet sweet consoling thought, that He Who" takes but what He gave away" Has vowed by His sure word to be The widow's help, the orphan's stay.
Still tears will come when memories sweet Recur of him I mourn in vain, But, ah, the happy hope to meet- To meet-ne'er more to part again!
THE DYING BOY.
I KNEW a boy, whose infant feet had trod Upon the blossoms of some seven springs,
And when the eighth came round, and called him out To gambol in the sun, he turned away,
And sought his chamber, to lie down and die!
'Twas night-he summoned his accustomed friends, And on this wise bestowed his last bequest :
"Mother! I'm dying now ;
There is deep suffocation in my breast, As if some heavy hand my bosom pressed; And on my brow
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