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There is no dimming, no effacement there ;
Each new pulsation keeps the record clear;
Warm, golden letters all the tablet fill,
Nor lose their lustre till the heart stands still.

DANIEL WEBSTER.

AULD LANG SYNE
SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne ?

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,
We 'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.
We twa hae run about the braes,

And pu'd the gowans fine ;
But we've wander'd mony a weary foot
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, etc.
We twa hae paidl’t i' the burn,

Frae mornin' sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, etc.
And here 's a hand, my trusty fier,

And gie 's a hand o' thine ;
And we 'll tak a right guid-willie waught
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, etc.
And surely ye 'll be your pint-stowp,

And surely I 'll be mine ;
And we 'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, etc.

ROBERT BURNS.

OU'R SISTER
HER face was very fair to see,
So luminous with purity :-
It had no roses, but the hue
Of lilies lustrous with their dew -
Her very soul seem'd shining through!

Her quiet nature seem'd to be
Tuned to each season's harmony.
The holy sky bent near to her ;
She saw a spirit in the stir
Of solemn woods. The rills that beat
Their mosses with voluptuous feet,
Went dripping music through her thought.
Sweet impulse came to her unsought
From graceful things, and beauty took
A sacred meaning in her look.
In the great Master's steps went she
With patience and humility.
The casual gazer could not guess
Half of her veilèd loveliness ;
Yet ah! what precious things lay hid
Beneath her bosom's snowy lid :-
What tenderness and sympathy,
What beauty of sincerity,
What fancies chaste, and loves, that grew
In heaven's own stainless light and dew!
True woman was she day by day
In suffering, toil, and victory.
Her life, made holy and serene
By faith, was hid with things unseen.
She knew what they alone can know
Who live above but dwell below.

HORATIO NELSON POWERS.

WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER
We have been friends together,

In sunshine and in shade;
Since first beneath the chestnut-trees

In infancy we played.
But coldness dwells within thy heart,

A cloud is on thy brow;
We have been friends together,

Shall a light word part us now?
We have been gay together ;

We have laugh'd at little jests;
For the fount of hope was gushing

Warm and joyous in our breasts.
But laughter now hath fled thy lip,

And sullen glooms thy brow;
We have been gay together, -

Shall a light word part us now ?

We have been sad together,

We have wept with bitter tears
O'er the grass-grown graves where slumber'd

The hopes of early years.
The voices which were silent there

Would bid thee clear thy brow;
We have been sad together,-
O, what shall part us now ?

CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH NORTON.

TO THOMAS MOORE
My boat is on the shore,

And my bark is on the sea ;
But before I go, Tom Moore,

Here's a double health to thee !
Here's a sigh to those who love me,

And a smile to those who hate;
And, whatever sky 's above me

Here 's a heart for any fate.
Though the ocean roar around me,

Yet it still shall bear me on ;
Though a desert should surround me,

It hath springs that may be won.
Were 't the last drop in the well,

As I gasp'd upon the brink,
Ere my fainting spirit fell,

'T is to thee that I would drink.
With that water, as this wine,

The libation I would pour
Should be - peace to thine and mine,
And a health to thee, Tom Moore !

LORD BYRON.

IN MEMORY OF WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR

Back to the flower-town, side by side,

The bright months bring,
New-born, the bridegroom and the bride,

Freedom and spring.
The sweet land laughs from sea to sea,

Fill'd full of sun;
All things come back to her, being free ;

All things but one.

In many a tender wheaten plot

Flowers that were dead
Live, and old suns revive ; but not

That holier head.

By this white wandering waste of sea,

Far north, I hear
One face shall never turn to me

As once this year :
Shall never smile and turn and rest

On mine as there,
Nor one most sacred hand be prest

Upon my hair.

I came as one whose thoughts half linger,

Half run before ;
The youngest to the eldest singer

That England bore.
I found him whom I shall not find

Till all grief end,
In holiest age our mightiest mind,

Father and friend.

But thou, if anything endure,

If hope there be,
O spirit that man's life left pure,

Man's death set free,

Not with disdain of days that were

Look earthward now;
Let dreams revive the reverend hair,

The imperial brow;

Come back in sleep, for in the life

Where thou art not We find none like thee. Time and strife

And the world's lot

Move thee no more ; but love at least

And reverent heart
May move thee, royal and releast,

Soul, as thou art.

And thou, his Florence, to thy trust

Receive and keep,
Keep safe his dedicated dust,

His sacred sleep.

So shall thy lovers, come from far,

Mix with thy name
As morning-star with evening-star
His faultless fame.

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.

JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE
GREEN be the turf above thee,

Friend of my better days!
None knew thee but to love thee,

Nor named thee but to praise.
Tears fell, when thou wert dying,

From eyes unused to weep,
And long, where thou art lying,

Will tears the cold turf steep.
When hearts whose truth was proven,

Like thine, are laid in earth,
There should a wreath be woven

To tell the world their worth ;
And I, who woke each morrow

To clasp thy hand in mine,
Who shared thy joy and sorrow,

Whose weal and woe were thine, —
It should be mine to braid it

Around thy faded brow;
But I've in vain essay'd it,

And feel I cannot now.
While memory bids me weep thee,

Nor thoughts nor words are free;
The grief is fix'd too deeply
That mourns a man like thee.

FITZ-GREENE HALLECK.

A SOLDIER-POET
WHERE swell the songs thou shouldst have sung

By peaceful rivers yet to flow ?
Where bloom the smiles thy ready tongue

Would call to lips that loved thee so ?
On what far shore of being toss'd,

Dost thou resume the genial stave, And strike again the lyre we lost

By Rappahannock's troubled wave ?

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