Fame was thy gift from others—but for her, It was thy spirit, brother! which had made Woe to the one, the last! Woe, yet not long-she linger'd but to trace The earth grew silent when thy voice departed, The home too lonely whence thy step had fledWhat then was left for her, the faithful-hearted ?Death, death, to still the yearning for the dead. Softly she perish'd-be the Flower deplored, Here with the Lyre and Sword. Have ye not met ere now ?-so let those trust That weep, watch, pray, to hold back dust from dust, That love, where love is but a fount of tears. Brother, sweet sister! peace around ye dwellLyre, Sword, and Flower, farewell! THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. THEY grew in beauty, side by side, The same fond mother bent at night One, 'midst the forests of the West, The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one, One sleeps where southern vines are drest, Above the noble slain; He wrapt his colours round his breast, On a blood-red field of Spain. And one-o'er her the myrtle showers Its leaves, by soft winds fann'd; She faded 'midst Italian flowers, The last of that bright band. And parted thus they rest, who play'd Beneath the same green tree; Whose voices mingled as they pray'd Around one parent knee ! They that with smiles lit up the hall, And cheer'd with song the hearthAlas! for love, if thou wert all, And nought beyond, Oh earth! THE LAST WISH. Go to the forest shade, Seek thou the well-known glade Like dark eyes fill'd with sleep, Bring me their buds, to shed Around my dying bed A breath of May, and of the wood's repose; With a reluctant heart, That fain would linger where the bright sun glow Fain would I stay with thee Alas! this must not be; Yet bring me still the gifts of happier hours! Catches, in glassy rest, The dim green light that pours through laurel bowers. I know how softly bright, Steep'd in that tender light, |