SONGS OF FAREWELL.

DEATH.

"Leaves and clustered fruits, and flowers eterne,
Eternal to the world, but not to me."-HOOD.

THE Spring will come again, dear friends,

The Swallow o'er the Sea;

The bud will hang upon the bough,

The blossom on the tree;

And many a pleasant sound will rise to greet her on her

way,

The voice of bird, and leaf, and stream, and warm winds in

their play;

Ah! sweet the airs that round her breathe! and bountiful

is she,

She bringeth all the things that fresh, and sweet, and hopeful

be;

She scatters promise on the earth with open hand and free, But not for me, my friends,

But not for me!

Summer will come again, dear friends,

Low murmurs of the Bee

Will rise through the long sunny day

Above the flowery lea;

And deep the dreamy woods will own the slumbrous spell

she weaves,

And send a greeting, mixed with sighs, through all their

quivering leaves.

Oh, precious are her glowing gifts! and plenteous is she, She bringeth all the lovely things that bright and fragrant

be;

She scatters fulness on the Earth with lavish hand and free, But not for me, my friends,

But not for me!

Autumn will come again, dear friends,

His spirit-touch shall be

With gold upon the harvest-field,

With crimson on the tree;

He passeth o'er the silent woods, they wither at his breath,
Slow fading in a still decay, a change that is not Death.
Oh! rich and liberal, and wise, and provident is he!
He taketh to his Garner-house the things that ripened be,
He gathereth his store from Earth, and silently—
And he will gather me, my friends,

He will gather me!

A CHARACTER.

So noble that he cannot see

He stands in aught above the rest,

But does his greatness easily,

And mounts his scaffold with a jest ;

Not vaunting any daily death,

Because he scorns the thing that dies,

And not in love with any breath

That might proclaim him grand or wise.

Not much concerned with schemes that show The counterchange of weak with strong,

But never passing by a woe,

Nor sitting still to watch a wrong.

Of all hearts careful save his own;

Most tender when he suffers most;

Wont, if a foe must be o'erthrown,

To count, but never grudge the cost.

Sharp insight, severing with a glance Greater from less, from substance shade; Faith, in gross darkness of mischance Unable to be much afraid.

Out-looking eyes that seek and scan, Ready to love what they behold; Quick reverence for his brother-man ; Quick sense where gilding is not gold.

Such impulse in his self-control,
It seems a voluntary grace,
The careless grandeur of a soul
That holds no mirror to its face.

True sympathy a light that grows,
And broadens like the summer morn's;

A hope that trusts before it knows,

Being out of tune with all the scorns.

On-moving, temperately intent

On radiant ends by means as bright,
And never cautious, but content
With all the bitter fruits of right.

Under this shade the tired may lie,

Worn with the greatness of their way; Under this shield the brave may die, Aware that they have won the day.

For such a leader lifts his times
Out of the limits of the night,
And, falling grandly, while he climbs,
Falls with his face toward the height.

THE LITTLE FAIR SOUL.

A LITTLE fair soul that knew no sin,
Looked over the edge of Paradise,
And saw one striving to come in,
With fear and tumult in his eyes.

"Oh, brother, is it you?" he cried;
"Your face is like a breath from home;

Why do you stay so long outside?
I am athirst for you to come!

"Tell me first how our mother fares,

And has she wept too much for me!" "White are her cheeks and white her hairs, But not from gentle tears for thee."

"Tell me, where are our sisters gone?"
"Alas, I left them weary and wan.”
"And tell me is the baby grown ?"
"Alas! he is almost a man!

"Cannot you break the gathering days, And let the light of death come through,

Ere his feet stumble in the maze

Crossed safely by so few, so few ?