He stooped and kissed the frozen cheek, "Oh Father! it is vain This late remorse and deep! Speak to me, Father, once again! I weep, behold, I weep! Alas! my guilty pride and ire! Were but this work undone, I would give England's crown, my Sire! To hear thee bless thy son. "Speak to my mighty grief; Ere now the dust hath stirred. Hear me but hear me !-Father, Chief, Hushed! hushed!--how is it that I call, Thy silver hairs I see So still, so sadly bright! I bore thee down, high heart! at last "Thou wert the noblest King, And thou did'st prove where spears were proved In war the bravest heart; "Thou that my boyhood's guide How will that sad, still face of thine NO MORE. BY HEMANS. No more! a harp-string's deep and breaking tone, Breathe through those words-those murmurs of No more! To dwell in peace, with home affections bound, To feel the spirit of her love around, No more! A dirge-like sound! to greet the early friend No more! Through woods that shadowed 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 wo Their passion breathes the desolately deep! That sound in heaven-Oh! image then the flow Of gladness in its tones-to pant, to weep No more! To watch, in dying hope, affection's wane, 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, No more! Words of triumphant music-bear me 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! HUMAN LIFE. BY BERNARD BARTON. I WALKED the fields at morning's prime, "And thus," I cried, "the ardent boy, I wandered forth at noon:-Alas! The scythe had left the withering grass, And thus, I thought with many a sigh, Once more, at eve abroad I strayed, The perfumed air, the hush of eve, O'er thoughts perchance too prone to grieve, For thus the actions of the just," When memory hath enshrined them, E'en from the dark and silent dust Their odour leave behind them. A LEGEND OF BREGENZ. By A. A. PROCTER. GIRT round with rugged mountains Shine back the starry skies; Lies on our earth below! Midnight is there: and Silence Enthroned in Heaven looks down Upon her own calm mirror, Upon a sleeping town; For Bregenz, that quaint city Upon the Tyrol shore, Has stood above Lake Constance Her battlements and towers, Of how the town was saved one night Far from her home and kindred To serve in the Swiss valleys, |