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And locks of sunshine) in his age composed,

His green old age, which kept his energies

And seraph's ardours bright and unimpaired
As when accompanied by Love Divine.

A piteous sight it would have been, to one Who knew not that her hopes had upward filed, And there had settled ere the spirit was freed, To see that lovely sufferer. Spring long since Had flushed each thicket, and the wilding rose Began to shew its streak, a tender hue, Like that which lingered yet on Esther's lips, While the poor hectic patient, pillow-propt, Sat in the doorway to inhale the breeze. Calmly she looked on death, as on a cloud Behind whose folds the Sun of Righteousness Is hidden from terrestrials, and whose gloom We all must enter; but once past, by those To whom the Scripture utters words of hope, Then comes the perfect Day. So she prepared In calmness for the grave,-she chose the spot Where she would lie; she named the friendly band Whose last sad office was to bear her forth; Portioned her little store of worldly goods,

That each beloved one might retain of her

Some valued keepsake; evidenced her faith
By joining in the sacred offices

The church prescribes,--and then, in patient hope

Waited the final summons. While she sat,

Pale as the alabaster of a tomb,

Scarcely less still-her poor shrunk fingers wrought

The Garland which I spake of; it was made

Slowly, with many a pausing interval,

When even the scissors were a weight her strength
Could scarce uphold. She lingered on and on,
Through all the summer, and when autumn came
And shed the jasmine flowers above her head

As if with funeral strewings, gently forth

She breathed the imprisoned soul. Time had been given
To shape the emblematic trifle. She had heard-
Although the ancient usage in these parts
Was somewhat obsolete—that maids, who died
Untimely deaths, were erewhile wont to have
This slight memorial; and the fancy pleased.
One, who at Lucy's nuptials, six months since,
Had been joint bridesmaid with her, Esther named
To bear it; and when earth was given to earth,
And nought remained to tell of what was once
Beauty and kindliness and innocence,

Save recollections in a few fond hearts,

And a green, unmarked mound,—then this frail thing
Was hung above the pew, wherein she knelt
And worshipped from her youth. The robin oft,
Unchecked intruder through some broken pane,

Makes it his solitary perch, and sings

As 't were a requiem for the buried maid.

Dust, damp, and mouldiness have somewhat dimmed

Its pristine purity, and fragments fall

Unnoted; so, not long the villagers

Will point to Esther's Garland, and enforce

The moral of our life's uncertainty,

And of the Crown which goodness gains in death.

THE SECRET.

A DIALOGUE.

B.

"I have a counsel for thy gentle ear,

A secret deep, I fain would whisper in it!" "Of love, I guess: come closer, then, my dear, And if 'tis worth a farthing pray begin it."

"Well, then. He (you know who!) was here this

minute;

And no, I can't go on-indeed I can't;

I thought him all devotion to my aunt;

And now-such love-and, oh! that I should win it! Nay, do not smile, his is no soul of iron;

He sits for ever with an upturned eye,

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Doing the Poet' most enchantingly;

And cuts his hair, too, by the prints of Byron :
With collar spread, the vulgar neckcloth scorning,
He looks, what now!"- "I married him this morn-
ing."

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