Though the heart that sorrow chideth,

Time speeds away-away-away,

'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower,

'Tis midnight on the globe dead slumber sits,

To me, my sweet Kathleen, the Benshee has cried,

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,

Unthinking, idle, wild, and young,

Upon my father's new closed grave,

We sat in a green verandah's shade,

Weep, mourner, for the joys that fade,

What were the world without this holy book,

What various hindrances we meet,

When coldness wraps the suffering clay,

When in the hours of lonely woe,

When musing sorrow weeps the past,

When late I saw thy favourite child,

When to their airy halls, my father's voice,

Within this awful volume lies, .....

You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride,

Yes, 'twill be over soon.--This sickly dream,

Page.

THE

POETICAL MELANGE.

THE

POETICAL MELANGE.

THE VOICE OF DEPARTED FRIENDSHIP.

I had a friend who died in early youth !
--And often, in those 'melancholy dreams,
When my soul travels through the umbrage deep
That shades the silent world of memory,
Metbinks I hear his voice ! sweet as the breath
Of balmy ground flowers stealing from some spot
Of sunshine sacred, in a gloomy wood,
To everlasting spring.

In the church-yard
Where now he sleeps—the day before he died,
Silent we sat together on a grave;
Till gently laying his pale hand on mine,
Pale in the moonlight that was coldly sleeping

On heaving sod and marble monument,-
This was the music of his last farewell !

Weep not, my brother ! though thou seest me led,
By short and easy stages, day by day,
With motion almost imperceptible,
Into the quiet grave : God's will be done.
Even when a boy, in doleful solitude
My soul oft sat within the shadow of death!
And when I looked along the laughing earth,
Up the blue heavens, and through the middle air,
Joyfully ringing with the sky-lark's song,
I wept ! and thought how sad for one so young
To bid farewell to so much happiness.
But Christ hath called me from this lower world,
Delightful though it be: and when I gaze
On the green earth, and all its happy hills,
'Tis with the feelings that a man beholds
A little farm which he is doomed to leave
On an appointed day. Still more and more
He loves it, as that mournful day draws near ;
But bath prepared his heart—and is resigned !'

- Then lifting up his radiant eyes to heaven, He said, with fervent voice— what were life, Even in the warm and summer light of joy, Without those hopes, that like refreshing gales, At evening from the sea, come o'er the soul