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THE FUNERAL OF THE FORSAKEN.

Oh, would that thou hadst passed me by, in coldness or in pride,
Nor wrought this deadly wrong to her who on thy truth relied ;—
The hunter's to the greenwood gone, his spear is in its rest;
But he'll not wound the trusting dove that shelters in his breast.

KENNEDY.

THE FUNERAL OF THE FORSAKEN.

HE gorgeous sun is fading fast,

The languid flowers are closed in sleep;
For all another day hath passed,
Smile they or weep.

Blent with the murmurs of the gale

Come notes the silence to dispel,
Sounds sad as human sorrow's wail,-

The funeral bell.

The church is gained, the grave appears;

The unconscious dead, his trials o'er,

Hath reached that home where grief or fears

Touch him no more.

The priest comes forth-looks round-for where

Are they who sorrow o'er the bier?

No choking sob of wild despair

Falls on the ear.

Where is the fond and changeless friend,

The tender parent, loving wife;

Ties which to death such anguish lend,

Such charm to life?

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THE DESERTED.

Yet another winter day,

And the snowy flower is flown;
Yet another morning gray,

And the year is gone!

Gone, where all have gone before,

To the sea without a shore !

Time, that endless, endless river,

Floweth still through joy and bale,

Leaving all that lived for ever

All the seasons pale,

Deed, and thought, and purpose high,

Where Oblivion's people lie.

Kings, who dwelt in clouded power,

Conquerors crowned with murdered foes,

Wits and sages of an hour,

Even beauty's rose

Faded is and lost at last;

Gone where all the world hath passed!

ANON.

THE DESERTED.

H, mine be the shade which no eye might discover,
Where in silence and sorrow alone I may dwell;
Give scorn to the maid who is false to her lover-
A tear unto her who has loved but too well:
Alas for the heart, when, affection forsaking,
It turns from the vows it hath cherished for years;

THE DESERTED.

For no refuge remains to that lone heart but breaking,

The silence of grief or the solace of tears.

Though the skies of my youth are now dark and o'erclouded,
Though the chill wind of misery withers my heart,
Though his fond vows of truth in oblivion are shrouded,
From me shall the glow of faith never depart ;-
As the sunbeam that glitters to vanish for ever,

As the snowflake that meets with, to melt in the wave,
As the wind-severed leaf that is swept down the river,
In the springtide of life I descend to the grave!

Then welcome, thrice welcome, the long wakeless slumber
That wraps in the bands of its silence the tomb;

Nor misery pierces, nor sorrows encumber

The turf where the cypress-tree waves in its gloom : And, perhaps, if long-smothered remorse should awaken, And affection return to the heart it hath fled,

The pity denied to a maiden forsaken

May be lavished in vain o'er the turf of the dead!

Farewell the gay prospects which once could allure me,
To think this poor earth was a promise of heaven:
Since he who once loved no more can endure me,
Too much with the darkness of fate I have striven.
The flowers with their odours, the birds with their singing,
The beauties of earth, and the glories of sky,

Dear, sad recollections, are constantly bringing,
And all that remains in this world is--to die!

M. MOIR.

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