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"Content thee, boy! in my bower to dweli,

Here are sweet sounds which thou lovest well;
Flutes on the air in the stilly noon,

Harps which the wandering breezes tune;

And the silvery wood-note of many a bird, Whose voice was ne'er in thy mountains heard."

"Oh! my mother sings, at the twilight's fall,
A song of the hills far more sweet than all;
She sings it under our own green tree,

To the babe half slumbering on her knee;
I dreamt last night of that music low-
Lady! kind lady! oh! let me go."

"Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest,

She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast;

Thou wouldst meet her footstep, my boy, no more,

Nor hear her song at the cabin door.

Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh,

And we'll pluck the grapes of the richest dye."

"Is my mother gone from her home away?—
But I know that my brothers are there at play.
I know they are gathering the fox-glove's bell,
Or the long fern-leaves by the sparkling well,

Or they launch their boats where the bright streams


Lady, kind lady! oh! let me go."

"Fair child, thy brothers are wanderers now,
They sport no more on the mountain's brow,
They have left the fern by the spring's green side,
And the streams where the fairy barks were tried.
Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot,

For thy cabin-home is a lonely spot."

"Are they gone, all gone from the sunny hill?
But the bird and the blue-fly rove o'er it still;
And the red-deer bound in their gladness free,
And the heath is bent by the singing bee,

And the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow,-
Lady, kind lady! oh! let me go."


I called on dreams and visions, to disclose
That which is veil'd from waking thought, conjured
Eternity, as men constrain a ghost

To appear and answer.


ANSWER me, burning stars of night!

Where is the spirit gone,

That past the reach of human sight,
As a swift breeze hath flown ?-

And the stars answered me- "We roll
In light and power on high;
But, of the never-dying soul,

Ask that which cannot die."

Oh! many-toned and chainless wind!

Thou art a wanderer free ;

Tell me if thou its place canst find,

Far over mount and sea ?

And the wind murmur'd in reply,
"The blue deep I have cross'd,

And met its barks and billows high,
But not what thou hast lost."

Ye clouds that gorgeously repose

Around the setting sun,

Answer! have ye a home for those

Whose earthly race is run?

The bright clouds answer'd-"We depart,

We vanish from the sky;

Ask what is deathless in thy heart,

For that which cannot die."

Speak then, thou voice of God within,

Thou of the deep low tone!

Answer me, thro' life's restless din,

Where is the spirit flown ?-

And the voice answered-"Be thou still!

Enough to know is given;

Clouds, winds, and stars their part fulfil Thine is to trust in Heaven.”

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