Waited the final summons. While she sat, Pale as the alabaster of a tomb, Scarcely less still-her poor shrunk fingers wrought When even the scissors were a weight her strength As if with funeral strewings, gently forth She breathed the imprisoned soul. Time had been given Save recollections in a few fond hearts, And a green, unmarked mound,—then this frail thing And worshipped from her youth. The robin oft, Makes it his solitary perch, and sings pane, 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!" minute; He (you know who!) was here this 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, Doing the Poet' most enchantingly; And cuts his hair, too, by the prints of Byron : With collar spread, the vulgar neckcloth scorning, ing." SOME PASSAGES IN THE HISTORY OF SARAH CURRAN. Ir is a comparatively easy task to recount the adventures of those whose celebrity renders the most trifling incident that concerns them, of interest, and even importance, to the world; but the mere records of the heart and its affections, refined and exquisite as they may be, can only be gratifying to the few by whom it was intimately known and appreciated; and were it not that some circumstances had given to the unfortunate subject of this sketch, a degree of celebrity which she as little contemplated as desired, I should scarcely have been tempted to pay this simple, but sincere tribute to her memory. Sarah Curran has already been the theme of story and of song; and so long as "The Broken Heart" of Washington Irving be read; and the exquisite melody She is far from the Land," of our national poet, Moore, shall preserve its popularity,- so long must the of |