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FOREVER.

JHOSE we love truly never die,
Though year by year the sad memorial wreatn,
'fp A ring and flowers, types of life and death,
M* Are laid upon their graves.

For death the pure life saves,
And life all pure is love; and love can reach
From heaven to earth, and nobler lessons

Than those by mortals read.

Well blest is he who has a dear one dead:
A friend he has whose face will never change—

A dear communion that will not grow The anchor of a love is death.

The blessed sweetness of a loving breath Will reach our cheek all fresh through weary years. For her who died long since, ah! waste not tears.

She's thine unto the end.

Thank God for one dear friend, With face still radiant with the light of truth. Whose love comes laden with the scent of youth,

Through twenty years of death.

John Boyle 0'.reili.y.

THE BELLS OF SHANDON.

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flTH deep affection
And recollection
I often think of

Those Shandon bells,
Whose sounds so wild would,
In the days of childhood,
Fling round my cradle
Their magic spells.

On this I ponder
Where'er I wander,
And thus grow fonder,

Sweet Cork, of thee, —
With thy bells of Shandon,
That sound so grand on
The pleasant waters

Of the river Lee.

I've heard bells chiming
Full many a clime in.
Tolling sublime in

Cathedral shrine.
While at a glib rate
Brass tongues would vibrate;
But all their music

Spoke naught like thine.

For memory, dwelling
On each proud swelling
Of the belfry, knelling

Its bold notes free.
Made the bells of Shandon
Sound far more grand on
The pleasant waters

Of the river Lee.

I've heard bells tolling
"Old Adrian's Mole " in,
Their thunder rolling

From the Vatican,
And cymbals glorious,
Swinging uproarious
In the gorgeous turrets

Of N6tre Dame;

But the sounds were sweeter
Than the dome of Peter
Flings o'er the Tiber,

Pealing solemnly; —
O, the bells of Shandon
Sound far more grand on
The pleasant waters

Of the river Lee.

There's a bell in Moscow,
While on tower and kiosk O
In St. Sophia

The Turkman gets,
And loud in air
Calls men to prayer,
From the tapering summit

Of tall minarets.

Such empty phantom
I freely grant them;
But there is an anthem

More dear to me —
'Tis the bells of Shandon,
That sound so grand on
The pleasant waters

Of the river Lee.

Francis Mahony (Father Pront).

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SELF-DEPENDENCE.

HHpEARY of myself, aad sick of asking
What I am and what I ought to be,
At this vessel's prow 1 stand, which bears me
Forw ard, forward, o'er the star-lit sea.

m

And a look of passionate desire

O'er the sea and to the stars I send.

"Ye who from my childhood have calmed mo,

Calm me, ah, compose me to the end!

"Ah, once more," I cried, "ye stars, ye waters,
On my heart your mighty charm renew,
Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you,
Feel my soul becoming vast like you!"

From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven,
Over the lit sea's unquiet way.
In the rustling night-air came the answer:
"Would'st thou be as these are? Live as they.

"Unaffrighted by the silence round them,
Undisturbed by the sights they see,
These demand not that the things without
Yield them love, amusement, sympathy.

"And with joy the stare perform their shining,
And the sea its long moou-silvered roll,
For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting
All the fever of some differing soul.

"Bounded by themselves, and unregardful
In what state God's other works ma}' be,
On their own tasks all their powers pouring,
These attain the mighty life you see."

O air-born voice! long since, severely clear,
A cry like thine in my own heart I hear:
"Resolve to be thyself; and know that he
Who lluds himself, loses his misery! *

Matthew Arnold.

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ON VISITING A SCENE OF CHILDHOOD.

I thought of the green banks, that circled around.
With wild-flowers, and sweet-brier, and eglantine
crowned,

I thought of the river, all quiet and bright
As the face of the sky on a blue summer night:

And I thought of the trees, under which we had

strayed.

Of the broad leafy boughs, with their coolness of
shade;

And I hoped, though disfigured, some token to find
Of the names and the carvings, impressed on the
rind.

A NAME

IsLONE I walked the ocean strand,
A pearly shell was in my hand:
I stooped and wrote upon the saud

My name, the year and day:—
As onward from the spot I passed,
One lingering look behind 1 cast,—
A wave came rolling high and fast,

And washed my line away.

And so, methought, 't will quickly be
With every mark on earth with me:
A wave of dark oblivion's sea
Will sweep across the place

j^l^ONG years have elapsed since I gazed on the
i scene.

"H Which my fancy still robed in its freshness of
A green.—

* The spot where, a school-boy. all thoughtless I

* strayed By the side of the stream, in the gloom of the shade.

I thoughtof the friends who had roamed with me there,
When the sky was so blue and the fiowers were so
fair.—

All scattered—all sundered by mountain and wave,
And some in the silent embrace of the grave!

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