He was a child when thus the bower he wove,
(O! hath a day fled since his childhood's time?)
That I might sit and hear the sound I love,

Beneath its shade — the convent's vesper-chime.
And sit thou there!—for he was gentle ever;

With his glad voice he would have welcomed thee, And brought fresh fruits to cool thy parched lips' fever: There in his place thou'rt resting-where is he?

If I could hear that laughing voice again,

But once again! - how oft it wanders by,
In the still hours, like some remembered strain,
Troubling the heart with its wild melody!
Thou hast seen much, tired pilgrim! hast thou seen
In that far land, the chosen land of yore,

The dark, clear, lightning eye! on heaven and earth
It smiled as if man were not dust it smiled!

The very air seemed kindling with his mirth;
And I my heart grew young before my child !
My blessed child!

- I had but him

yet he

Filled all my home even with overflowing joy,
Sweet laughter, and wild song, and footstep free
Where is he now ? my pride, my flower, ny boy!

His sunny childhood melted from my sight,

Like a spring dew-drop — then his forehead wore

A prouder look — his eye a keener light

-

I knew these woods might be his world no more!

He loved me but he left me! - thus they go

Whom we have reared, watched, blessed, too much

adored!

He heard the trumpet of the Red-Cross blow,

And bounded from me with his father's sword!
Y

Thou weep'st I tremble-thou hast seen the slain

Pressing a bloody turf; the young and fair,

With their pale beauty strewing o'er the plain

Where hosts have met-speak! answer! was he there? O! hath his smile departed? - Could the grave

Shut o'er those bursts of bright and tameless glee?

No! I shall yet behold his dark locks wave

That look gives hope I knew it could not be !

Still weep'st thou, wanderer ?

some fond mother's glance

O'er thee, too, brooded in thine early years

Think'st thou of her, whose gentle eye, perchance,
Bathed all thy faded hair with parting tears?
Speak, for thy tears disturb me! - what art thou?

Why dost thou hide thy face, yet weeping on?

Look up!-O! is it that wan cheek and brow!

Is it

alas! yet joy!- my son, my son !

LESSON CVII.

The Last Man. CAMPBELL.

ALL worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,
The sun himself must die,
Before this mortal shall assume
Its immortality!

I saw a vision in my sleep,

That gave my spirit strength to sweep
Adown the gulf of Time:

I saw the last of human mould,
That shall creation's death behold,

As Adam saw her prime.

The sun's eye had a sickly glare;
The earth with age was wan;
The skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man.

Some had expired in fight, the brands
Still rusted in their bony hands;

In plague and famine some.

Earth's cities had no sound nor tread,
And ships were drifting with the dead
To shores where all was dumb.

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,
With dauntless words and high,

That shook the sere leaves from the wood
As if a storm passed by,

Saying, "We are twins in death, proud Sun,
Thy face is cold, thy race is run;

'Tis mercy bids thee go;

For thou ten thousand thousand years
Hast seen the tide of human tears,

That shall no longer flow.

"What though beneath thee man put forth
His pomp, his pride, his skill;

And arts that made fire, floods, and earth
The vassals of his will;

Yet mourn not I thy parted sway,
Thou dim, discrownéd king of day;

For all those trophied arts

And triumphs that beneath thee sprang,
Healed not a passion or a pang

Entailed on human hearts.

"Go, let oblivion's curtain fall

Upon the stage of men,

Nor with thy rising beams recall
Life's tragedy again.

Its piteous pageants bring not back,
Nor waken flesh upon the rack
Of pain anew to writhe;

Stretched in disease's shapes abhorred,
Or mown in battle by the sword,
Like grass beneath the scythe.

"Even I am weary in yon skies
To watch thy fading fire;
Test of all sumless agonies,
Behold not me expire.

My lips that speak thy dirge of death-
Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath
To see thou shalt not boast.

The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall,-
The majesty of darkness shall
Receive my parting ghost!

“This spirit shall return to Him
That gave its heavenly spark ;
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim
When thou thyself art dark!
No! it shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
By Him recalled to breath,
Who captive led captivity,
Who robbed the grave of victory,
And took the sting from death!

"Go, Sun, while mercy holds me up On Nature's awful waste

To drink this last and bitter cup

Of grief that man shall taste

Go, tell that night that hides thy face,
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race,

On earth's sepulchral clod,
The darkening universe defy
To quench his immortality,

Or shake his trust in God!"

LESSON CVIII.

The Boon of Memory. MRS. HEMANS.

I GO, I go !

and must mine image fade

From the green spots wherein my childhood played By my own streams?

Must

my life part from each familiar place,

As a bird's song, that leaves the woods no trace
Of its lone themes?

Will the friend pass my dwelling, and forget
The welcomes there, the hours when we have met
In grief or glee?

All the sweet counsel, the communion high,
The kindly words of trust, in days gone by,
Poured full and free?

A boon, a talisman, O Memory! give,

To shrine my name in hearts where I would live
Forevermore!

Bid the wind speak of me where I have dwelt,
Bid the stream's voice, of all my soul hath felt,
A thought restore!