If I had lived-I cannot tell-I might have been his wife;

But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life.

O look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow ;

He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know;

And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine—

Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine.

O, sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done

The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the sun

For ever and for ever with those just souls and

true

And what is life, that we should moan? why make we such ado?

For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home— And there to wait a little while till you and Effie come

To be within the light of God, as I lie upon

your breast

And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.

Tennyson.

SONG.

A spirit haunts the year's last hours
Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers:
To himself he talks ;

For at eventide, listening earnestly,
At his work you may hear him sob and sigh
In the walks ;

Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks

Of the mouldering flowers :

Heavily hangs the broad sunflower

Over its grave i' the earth so chilly;
Heavily hangs the hollyhock,

Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.

The air is damp, and hushed, and close,
As a sick man's room when he taketh repose
An hour before death;

My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves
At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves,
And the breath

Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose.

Heavily hangs the broad sunflower
Over its grave i' the earth so chilly:
Heavily hangs the hollyhock,

Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.

Tennyson.

THE DESERTED HOUSE.

Life and Thought have gone away
Side by side,

Leaving door and windows wide;

Careless tenants they !

All within is dark as night:
In the windows is no light;
And no murmur at the door,
So frequent on its hinge before.

Close the door, the shutters close,

Or through the windows we shall see
The nakedness and vacancy

Of the dark deserted house.

Come away, no more of mirth

Is here, or merry-making sound.
The house was builded of the earth,
And shall fall again to ground.

Come away for Life and Thought
Here no longer dwell;

But in a city glorious

A great and distant city-have bought
A mansion incorruptible.

Would they could have stayed with us!

Tennyson.

DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR.

Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing;
Toll ye the church bell sad and slow,

And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.

Old year, you must not die ;
You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily,
Old year, you shall not die.

He lieth still; he doth not move :

He will not see the dawn of day. .
He hath no other life above.

He gave me a friend, and a true, true-love,
And the New Year will take them away.
Old year, you must not go ;

So long as you have been with us,

Such joy as you have seen with us,
Old year, you shall not go.

He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o'er,
To see him die, across the waste
His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
But he'll be dead before.

Every one for his own,

The night is starry and cold, my friend,
And the New Year blithe and bold,my friend,
Comes up to take his own.

How hard he breathes! over the snow

I heard just now the crowing cock.

The shadows flicker to and fro :

The cricket chirps: the light burns low: 'Tis nearly twelve o'clock.

Shake hands, before you die;

Old year, we'll dearly rue for you ;
What is it we can do for you?,

Speak out before you die.