Prayers and tears can ease the swollen thought
And bring back peace to the troubled --
Áh, could they but staunch the death wound,
Ór the spark of life rekindle!

William's grave 's in Upton churchyard;

Ín Saint Bridget's cloister, Emma's;

Henry's bones lie in Jerúsalem;

Pray for all the three, good Christians. GHENT, August 5, 1858.

ONE womb maternal gave birth to two brothers
Into existence called by different fathers.
Deftly the one could wield the sculptor's chisel,
And peopled with live statues half the world.
His cenotaph 's in Venice, where he died,
But in Possagno a sarcophagus,

Héwn by his own hand, holds his honored bones,
Ánd, by his own hand reared, a temple covers,
Vast as Agrippa's. Opposite, in view,

Stands what was once Antonio's humble dwelling, A bishop's palace now, for Giambattista,

Bishop of Mindo, the thrice hallowed roof

Raised and adorned in memory of his brother's

Birthplace and infancy, and gathered round,
Even from most distant Rome, the artist's models,
And, under óne dome, placed in company,

A company unparalleled in the world.

And there he lived, and there I knew him well, Canova's uterine brother, Mindo's bishop;

And, large of heart, blessed all the country round,
Unlike in that a bishop — except Cambray's.
And there, last week, he died nonagenarian,
And, laid in the sarcophagus with his brother,
Doubles the sanctity of that Pantheon,
And if I visit thee again, Possagno,

'Twill not be as a happy friend meets friend,
But as sad pilgrim kneels before a shrine.

Walking along the canal from BRUGES to OSTEND, Aug. 6, 1858.

TO ADDAH.

SAY not I love thee not, for Emma loved thee,
And what my Emma loved, I doubly love,
Love for my Emma's sake and for its own;
For worthy was my Emma of all love,
And worthy of all love, all Emma loved.
To say I love thee not, then, is to say

I neither Emma loved, nor love what 's lovely.
DALKEY LODGE, near DUBLIN, August 18, 1858.

FEAR, in the evening born, and nursed all night,
Grows sick and weak, and dies at morning light;
But Hope, born in the morning, nursed all day,
Grows sick and weak with Sol's departing ray,
Pines away gradual in the-waning light,

And sad sets out for Hades at midnight.

Walking from EDENVILLE, MOUNT-MERRION AVENUE, to DALKEY, Jan. 19, 1859.

INSTRUCTIONS FOR A YOUNG POET.

FIRST let thy Muse be tender; all hearts love
A tender strain, even those which are the rudest:
There is no mystery in tenderness;

The sucking baby understands and loves

School-boys and school-girls and old driveling men
Will steep with tears thy pages, sob "How charming!
How touching sweet! why, he 's a very Goethe
Scarce Werther's sorrows make one cry so much."
But flour, however sweet and good, unmixed,
Makes better bread, mixed with a little bran,
And but for the concluding pistol shot
Even Werther's sorrows were long since forgot;
So, mix a little horror in, judicious,

Feeding with tenderness, with horror seasoning,
And satisfying so both appetites.

Observing these two precepts, thou shalt see
Edition treading on edition's heels,

Ánd the loved name in great six-inch-long letters
Placarded, side by side with Longfellow's,
In every book-shop window; and thy praise
Read in the Quarterlies and Monthlies sung
In flippant, fashionable slang dogmatic:
Observing these two precepts, thou need'st heed
None other; mayst expatiate free as air,
Laughing to scorn not rhythm and measure only,
But science, learning, wit and common sense.

EDENVILLE, MOUNT - MERRION AVENUE, near DUBLIN.

SAID I to my truelove: - "Come, marry me."

But my truelove, she answered, "No." So I turned about and to Cupid said: "Little Master, you 're free to go."

But Cupid flew off to my truelove, straight,
And whispered two words in her ear —
What those two words wére I cannot tell,
How could I who did not hear?

And said:

But next morning my truelove came back to me, "Sure I meant to say, Yes." "It's a bargain," said I, and we signed and sealed Had you, in my place, done less?

EDENVILLE, Febr. 10, 1859.

"KEEP the real Virgil far away," said Dryden,

"And with my Virgil thou shalt be well pleased."
But Í
say: "With my Virgil to be pleased,

Thou must beside it close put the real Virgil."

EDENVILLE, Oct. 20, 1858.

THERE is a way to be beloved,

One, only way,

And that one way 's to take good heed
To what you say.

No matter what you think or do,

We máy agree,

So long as on your tongue no word
Displeases me.

But if you say one little word

Cross-grained to me,

That little word is sure to mar

Our harmony.

So whether yours are virtue's ways

Or ways of vice,

Mind well your tongue and keep your friend,

Is my advice

Advice I never took myself,

Nor ever will,

An awkward blurter of the truth,

For good or ill.

EDENVILLE, Febr. 10, 1859.