With footsteps like the falling snow,
To bear to her eternal home

The gracious Lady who looked down
With smiles on their forlorn estate-
But mercy up to heaven is gone
And left the friendless to their fate.

They pluck the honeysuckle's bloom,
That through the window fills the room
With mournful odours-and the rose
That in its innocent beauty glows,
Leaning its dewy golden head
Towards the pale face of the dead,
Weeping like a thing forsaken
Unto eyes that will not waken.

All bathed in pity's gentle showers
They place these melancholy flowers
Upon the cold white breast!

And there they lie! profoundly calm!
Ere long to fill with fading balm
A place of deeper rest!

By that fair band the bier is borne
Into the open light of morn,-
And, till the parting dirge be said,
Upon a spot of sunshine laid
Beneath a grove of trees!

Bowed and uncovered every head,
Bright-tressed youth, and hoary age-
Then suddenly before the dead
Lord Ronald's gathered vassalage
Fell down upon their knees!

Glen-Etive and its mountains lie
All silent as the depth profound
Of that unclouded sunbright sky-
Low heard the melancholy sound
Of waters murmuring by.

Glides softly from the orphan-band
A weeping child, and takes her stand
Close to the Lady's feet,

Then wildly sings a funeral hymn!
With overflowing eyes and dim,
Fixed on the winding -sheet!

HYMN.

O beautiful the streams

That through our valleys run, Singing and dancing in the gleams Of summer's cloudless sun.

The sweetest of them all

From its fairy banks is gone;
And the music of the waterfall
Hath left the silent stone!

Up among the mountains

In soft and mossy cell,

By the silent springs and fountains
The happy wild-flowers dwell.

The queen-rose of the wilderness
Hath withered in the wind,

And the shepherds see no loveliness
In the blossoms left behind.

Birds cheer our lonely groves

With many a beauteous wing— When happy in their harmless loves How tenderly they sing.

O'er all the rest was heard

One mild and mournful strain,

But hushed is the voice of that hymning bird, She ne'er must sing again!

Bright through the yew-trees' gloom,

I saw a sleeping dove!

On the silence of her silvery plume,
The sunlight lay in love.

The grove seemed all her own

Round the beauty of that breastBut the startled dove afar is flown! Forsaken is her nest!

In yonder forest wide

A flock of wild-deer lies,

Beauty breathes o'er each tender side
And shades their peaceful eyes!

The hunter in the night

Hath singled out the doe,

In whose light the mountain-flock lay bright,

Whose hue was like the snow!

A thousand stars shine forth,

With pure and dewy ray —

Till by night the mountains of our north
Seem gladdening in the day.

O empty all the heaven!

Though a thousand lights be there-
For clouds o'er the evening star are driven,
And shorn her golden hair!

That melancholy music dies—

And all at once the kneeling crowd

Is stirred with groans, and sobs, and sighs—
As sudden blasts come rustling loud

Along the silent skies.

-Hush! hush! the dirge doth breathe again!
The youngest of the orphan train
Walks up unto the bier,

With rosy cheeks, and smiling eyes,
As heaven's unclouded radiance clear,
And there like Hope to Sorrow's strain
With dewy voice replies.

-What! though the stream be dead,
Its banks all still and dry!

It murmureth now o'er a lovelier bed
In the air-groves of the sky.

What! though our prayers from death
The queen-rose might not save!
With brighter bloom and balmier breath
She springeth from the grave.

What! though our bird of light
Lie mute with plumage dim!

In heaven I see her glancing bright-
I hear her angel hymn.

What! though the dark tree smile
No more- -with our dove's calm sleep!
She folds her wing on a sunny isle

In heaven's untroubled deep.

True that our beauteous doe

Hath left her still retreatBut purer now in heavenly snow She lies at Jesus' feet.

O star! untimely set!

Why should we weep for thee!
Thy bright and dewy coronet
Is rising o'er the sea!

PROFESSOR WILSON.

Paradise.

BLISSFUL Paradise

Of God the garden was, by him in the East
Of Eden planted; Eden stretched her line
From Auran eastward to the royal towers
Of great Seleucia, built by Grecian kings
Or where the sons of Eden long before
Dwelt in Telassar: In this pleasant soil
His far more pleasant garden God ordained;
Out of the fertile ground he caused to grow
All trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste:
And all amid them stood the tree of life,