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To the depths of the woods, where the shadows rest,
Massy and still, on the greensward's breast,
To the rocks that resound with the water's play-
I hear the sweet laugh of my fount-give way!

Give way the booming surge, the tempest's roar,
The sea-bird's wail, shall vex my soul no more.

The gentle girl, that bow'd her fair young head,

When thou wert gone, in silent sorrow dying. Brother, true friend! the tender and the brave

She pin’d to share thy grave.

Fame was thy gift from others—but for her,

To whom the wide world held that only spot She lov'd thee-lovely in your lives ye were,

And in your early deaths divided not. Thou hast thine oak, thy trophy—what hath she?

-Her own blest place by thee !

It was thy spirit, brother ! which had made

The bright world glorious to her thoughtful eye, Since first in childhood ’midst the vines ye play'd,

And sent glad singing through the free blue sky. Ye were but two—and when that spirit pass’d,

Woe to the one, the last !

Woe, yet not long—she linger'd but to trace

Thine image from the image in her breast, Once, once again to see that buried face

But smile upon her, ere she went to rest. Too sad a smile ! its living light was o'er

It answer'd hers no more.

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 deplor'd,

Here with the Lyre and Sword.

Have ye not met ere now ?—so let those trust
That meet for moments but to part for

years, 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 dwell —

Lyre, Sword, and Flower, farewell !


Go to the forest shade,

Seek thou the well-known glade Where, heavy with sweet dew, the violets lie;

Gleaming through moss-tufts deep,

Like dark eyes fill?d with sleep,
And bath'd in hues of summer's midnight sky.

Bring me their buds, to shed

Around my dying bed
A breath of May, and of the wood's repose;

For I, in sooth, depart

With a reluctant heart, That fain would linger where the bright sun glows.

Fain would I stay with thee

Alas! this must not be ;
Yet bring me still the gifts of happier hours !

Go where the fountain's breast

Catches, in glassy rest, The dim green light that pours through laurel bowers. I know how softly bright,

Steep'd in that tender light,
The water-lilies tremble there, e'en now;

Go to the pure stream's edge,

And from its whispering sedge Bring me those flowers, to cool my fever'd brow.

Then, as in hope's young days,

Track thou the antique maze
Of the rich garden, to its grassy mound;

There is a lone white rose,

Shedding, in sudden snows,
Its faint leaves o'er the emerald turf around.

Well know'st thou that fair tree !

-A murmur of the bee
Dwells ever in the honied lime above e;

Bring me one pearly flower,

Of all its clustering shower-
For on that spot we first reveald our love !

Gather one woodbine bough,

Then, from the lattice low Of the bower'd cottage which I bade thee mark,

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