A FAREWELL TO ABBOTSFORD.

HOME of the gifted! fare thee well,

And a blessing on thee rest;

While the heather waves its purple bell
O'er moor and mountain crest;

While stream to stream around thee calls,
And braes with broom are drest,

Glad be the harping in thy halls—

A blessing on thee rest!

While the high voice from thee sent forth,

Bids rock and cairn reply,

Wakening the spirits of the North,

Like a chieftain's gathering cry;

While its deep master-tones hold sway,

As a king's o'er every breast,

Home of the Legend and the Lay!

A blessing on thee rest.

Joy to thy hearth, and board, and bower!
Long honours to thy line!

And hearts of proof, and hands of power,
And bright names worthy thine!

By the merry step of childhood still

May thy free sward be prest!

-While one proud pulse in the land can thrill, A blessing on thee rest!

SCENE IN A DALECARLIAN MINE.

"Oh! fondly, fervently, those two had loved,

Had mingled minds in Love's own perfect trust:
Had watched bright sunsets, dreamt of blissful years:
And thus they met.

"HASTE, with your torches, haste! make firelight

round!"

-They speed, they press--what hath the miner

found?

Relic or treasure, giant sword of old?

Gems bedded deep, rich veins of burning gold?

-Not so-the dead, the dead An awe-struck

band,

In silence gathering round the silent stand,

Chained by one feeling, hushing e'en their breath, Before the thing that, in the might of death,

Fearful, yet beautiful, amidst them lay—

A sleeper, dreaming not!-a youth with hair.
Making a sunny gleam (how sadly fair!)

O'er his cold brow: no shadow of decay

Had touched those pale bright features-yet he wore

A mien of other days, a garb of yore.

Who could unfold that mystery? From the throng
A woman wildly broke; her eye was dim,
As if through many tears, through vigils long,
Through weary strainings:-all had been for him!
Those two had loved! And there he lay, the dead,
In his youth's flower-and she, the living, stood
With her grey hair, whence hue and gloss had fled--
And wasted form, and cheek, whose flushing blood
Had long since ebb'd—a meeting sad and strange!
-Oh! are not meetings in this world of change
Sadder than partings oft? She stood there, still,
And mute, and gazing, all her soul to fill

SCENE IN A DALECARLIAN MINE. 337

With the loved face once more-the young, fair face, 'Midst that rude cavern touched with sculpture's

grace,

By torchlight and by death:-until at last

From her deep heart the spirit of the past

Gushed in low broken tones:-" And there thou art!
And thus we meet, that loved, and did but part
As for a few brief hours!-My friend, my friend!
First-love, and only one! Is this the end

Of hope deferred, youth blighted? Yet thy brow
Still wears its own proud beauty, and thy cheek
Smiles--how unchanged!--while I, the worn, and

weak,

And faded-oh! thou wouldst but scorn me now,
If thou couldst look on me!—a withered leaf,
Seared--though for thy sake-by the blast of grief!
Better to see thee thus! For thou didst go,
Bearing my image on thy heart, I know,

Unto the dead. My Ulric! through the night
How have I called thee! With the morning light

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