And graver looks, serene and high,
A light of heaven in that young eye,
All these shall haunt us till the heart
Shall ache and ache-and tears will start.

The bow, the band shall fall to dust,
The shining arrows waste with rust,
And all of Love that earth can claim,
Be but a memory and a name.

Not thus his nobler part shall dwell
A prisoner in this narrow cell;
But he whom now we hide from men,
In the dark ground, shall live again.

Shall break these clods, a form of light,
With nobler mien and purer sight,
And in the eternal glory stand,

Highest and nearest God's right hand.

THE MAY SUN SHEDS AN AMBER LIGHT.

THE May sun sheds an amber light

On new-leaved woods and lawns between ;

But she who, with a smile more bright,
Welcomed and watched the springing green,
Is in her grave,

Low in her grave.

The fair white blossoms of the wood

In groups beside the pathway stand;

But one, the gentle and the good,

Who cropped them with a fairer hand,

Is in her grave,

Low in her grave.

Upon the woodland's morning airs

The small birds' mingled notes are flung; But she, whose voice, more sweet than theirs, Once bade me listen while they sung,

Is in her grave,

Low in her grave.

That music of the early year

Brings tears of anguish to my eyes;
My heart aches when the flowers appear;
For then I think of her who lies

Within her grave,

Low in her grave.

THE VOICE OF AUTUMN.

THERE comes, from yonder height,
A soft repining sound,

Where forest-leaves are bright,
And fall, like flakes of light,
To the ground.

It is the autumn breeze,
That, lightly floating on,
Just skims the weedy leas,
Just stirs the glowing trees,
And is gone.

He moans by sedgy brook,

And visits, with a sigh,

The last pale flowers that look,
From out their sunny nook,
At the sky.

O'er shouting children flies
That light October wind,
And, kissing cheeks and eyes,
He leaves their merry cries
Far behind.

And wanders on to make
That soft uneasy sound

By distant wood and lake,
Where distant fountains break
From the ground.

No bower where maidens dwell

Can win a moment's stay;

Nor fair untrodden dell;

He sweeps the upland swell,
And away!

Mourn'st thou thy homeless state?

O soft, repining wind!

That early seek'st and late

The rest it is thy fate

Not to find.

Not on the mountain's breast,

Not on the ocean's shore, In all the East and West: The wind that stops to rest Is no more.

By valleys, woods, and springs,
No wonder thou shouldst grieve
For all the glorious things
Thou touchest with thy wings

And must leave.

THE CONQUEROR'S GRAVE.

WITHIN this lowly grave a Conqueror lies,
And yet the monument proclaims it not,

Nor round the sleeper's name hath chisel wrought
The emblems of a fame that never dies,

Ivy and amaranth, in a graceful sheaf,
Twined with the laurel's fair, imperial leaf.
A simple name alone,

To the great world unknown,

Is graven here, and wild-flowers, rising round,
Meek meadow-sweet and violets of the ground,
Lean lovingly against the humble stone.

Here, in the quiet earth, they laid apart

No man of iron mould and bloody hands, Who sought to wreak upon the cowering lands The passions that consumed his restless heart; But one of tender spirit and delicate frame, Gentlest, in mien and mind,

Of gentle womankind,

Timidly shrinking from the breath of blame :
One in whose eyes the smile of kindness made
Its haunt, like flowers by sunny brooks in May,
Yet, at the thought of others' pain, a shade
Of sweeter sadness chased the smile away.

Nor deem that when the hand that moulders here
Was raised in menace, realms were chilled with fear.
And armies mustered at the sign, as when
Clouds rise on clouds before the rainy East-

Gray captains leading bands of veteran men
And fiery youths to be the vulture's feast.
Not thus were waged the mighty wars that gave
The victory to her who fills this grave:

Alone her task was wrought,

Alone the battle fought;

Through that long strife her constant hope was staid
On God alone, nor looked for other aid.

She met the hosts of Sorrow with a look

That altered not beneath the frown they wore,
And soon the lowering brood were tamed, and took,
Meekly, her gentle rule, and frowned no more.
Her soft hand put aside the assaults of wrath,
And calmly broke in twain

The fiery shafts of pain,

And rent the nets of passion from her path.
By that victorious hand despair was slain.
With love she vanquished hate and overcame
Evil with good, in her Great Master's name.

Her glory is not of this shadowy state,

Glory that with the fleeting season dies; But when she entered at the sapphire gate

What joy was radiant in celestial eyes!

How heaven's bright depths with sounding welcomes rung, And flowers of heaven by shining hands were flung.

And He who, long before,

Pain, scorn, and sorrow bore,