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May less resemble thee!

The world that would my soul beguile
Tints all its roses with thy smile!

In heaven 'twere well to be !

But, to desire that blessed shore

Oh lady! thy dark eyes must first have gone before !

THE DEATH OF HARRISON.

WHAT! Soar'd the old eagle to die at the sun!

Lies he stiff with spread wings at the goal he had won!
Are there spirits more blest than the "Planet of Even,"
Who mount to their zenith, then melt into Heaven-
No waning of fire, no quenching of ray,

But rising, still rising, when passing away?

Farewell, gallant eagle! thou'rt buried in light!
God-speed into Heaven, lost star of our night!

Death! Death in the White House! Ah, never before,
Trod his skeleton foot on the President's floor!
He is look'd for in hovel, and dreaded in hall-
The king in his closet keeps hatchment and pall-
The youth in his birth-place, the old man at home,
Make clean from the door-stone the path to the tomb ;-
But the lord of this mansion was cradled not here-
In a churchyard far off stands his beckoning bier!

He is here as the wave-crest heaves flashing on high-
As the arrow is stopp'd by its prize in the sky-

The arrow to earth, and the foam to the shore-
Death finds them when swiftness and sparkle are o'er-
But Harrison's death fills the climax of story-

He went with his old stride-from glory to glory!

Lay his sword on his breast! There's no spot on its blade In whose cankering breath his bright laurels will fade! 'Twas the first to lead on at humanity's call

It was stay'd with sweet mercy when "glory" was all!
As calm in the council as gallant in war,

He fought for his country, and not its "hurrah!"
In the path of the hero with pity he trod-

Let him pass with his sword-to the presence of God!

What more? Shall we on, with his ashes? Yet, stay!
He hath ruled the wide realm of a king in his day!
At his word, like a monarch's, went treasure and land—
The bright gold of thousands has pass'd thro' his hand-
Is there nothing to show of his glittering hoard?
No jewel to deck the rude hilt of his sword-
No trappings no horses ?—what had he, but now?
On!-on with his ashes!-HE LEFT BUT HIS PLOUGH!
Brave old Cincinnatus! Unwind ye his sheet!
Let him sleep as he lived with his purse at his feet!

Follow now, as ye list! The first mourner to-day
Is the nation-whose father is taken away!

Wife, children, and neighbor, may moan at his knell

He was "lover and friend" to his country, as well!
For the stars on our banner, grown suddenly dim,
Let us weep, in our darkness-but weep not for him!
Not for him-who, departing, leaves millions in tears!
Not for him-who has died full of honor and years!
Not for him-who ascended Fame's ladder so high
From the round at the top he has stepp'd to the sky!

"SHE WAS NOT THERE."

"The bird,

Let loose, to his far nest will flee,

And love, though breathed but on a word,
Will find thee, over land and sea."

'Tis midnight deep-I came but now
From the close air of lighted halls;
And while I hold my aching brow
I gaze upon my dim-lit walls;
And, feeling here that I am free

To wear the look that suits my mood,
And let my thoughts flow back to thee,
I bless my tranquil solitude,
And bidding all thoughts else begone,
I muse upon thy love alone.

Yet was the music sweet to-night,

And fragrant odors fill'd the air,
And flowers were drooping in the light,
And lovely women wander'd there;
And fruits and wines with lavish waste
Were on the marble tables piled,
And all that tempts the eye and taste,
And sets the haggard pulses wild,
And wins from care, and deadens sadness,
Were there but yet I felt no gladness.

I thought of thee-I thought of thee-
Each cunning change the music play'd,
Each fragrant breath that stole to me,
My wandering thought more truant made.
The lovely women pass'd me by,

The wit fell powerless on mine ear,
I look'd on all with vacant eye,

I did not see I did not hear!

The skill'd musician's master-tone

Was sweet-thy voice were sweeter far!
They were soft eyes the lamps shone on-
The eyes I worship gentler are!

The halls were broad, the mirrors tall,

With silver lamps and costly wine

I only thought how poor was all

To one low tone from lips like thine

I only felt how well forgot

Were all the stars look on-and thy sweet eyes do not!

FAIL ME NOT THOU !

"Oh, by that little word
How many thoughts are stirr'd!-
The last, the last, the last!"

THE star may but a meteor be,

That breaks upon the stormy night; And I may err, believing thee

A spark of heaven's own changeless light! But if on earth beams aught so fair,

It seems, of all the lights that shine, Serenest in its truth, 'tis there,

Burning in those soft eyes of thine.

Yet long-watch'd stars from heaven have rush'd,
And long-loved friends have dropp'd away,
And mine-my very heart have crush'd!
And I have hoped this many a day,

It lived no more for love or pain!
But thou hast stirr'd its depths again,
And, to its dull, out-wearied ear,
Thy voice of melody has crept,

In tones it cannot choose but hear;
And now I feel it only slept,

And know, at even thy lightest smile,
It gather'd fire and strength the while.

Fail me not thou! This feeling past,

My heart would never rouse again.

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