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Of nature then swelled high; and o'er her child
“Alas! my boy! thy gentle grasp is on me,
And now fond thoughts arise,
How shall I hence depart?
“ How the lone paths retrace, were thou wert playing
And I, in joyous pride,
Beholding thee so fair !
“ And, oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted ! Will it not seem as if the sunny day
Turned from its door away, While, through its chambers wandering, weary-hearted, I languish for thy voice, which past me still,
Went like a singing rill?
“ Under the palm-trees thou no more shall meet me,
With the full water-urn!
And watch for thy dear sake!
“And thou, will slumber's dewy cloud fall round thee,
Wilt thou not vainly spread
A cry which none shall hear?
“What have I said, my child?_will He not hear thee Who the young ravens heareth from their nest?
Will he not guard thy rest,
Thou shalt sleep soft, my boy!
“I give thee to thy God !- the God that gave thee,
And, precious as thou art,
And thou shalt be His child!
“ Therefore, farewell!- I go! my soul may fail me,
Yearning for thy sweet looks!
The Rock of Strength — farewell!''
WRITTEN UNDER A PICTURE.
Lone cot! most placidly in thy green nest
Thou wert to me a dream of days to come;
J. H. R.
BY MISS M. J. JEWSBURY.
Ask the hour I love the best? The hour of silence and of rest! Oh! meet me in some sylvan bower, When day throws off his robes of power, And, sinking in the regal west, A king — but still a king at rest, Reclines behind the “ dark hill's side," Or hides beneath the waters wide, From vain pursuit and mortal ken, The flashing of his diadem! Then lift thine eyes — and if there be The spell abroad so sweet to me, The heavens will be of silver hue, The air be soft and silent too; And flowers seem listening on the stem, To streams that whisper unto them! And every leaf will tremble there, If only breathed on by the air ! And stars will steal upon
the view, Like happy spirits, shining through Their heaven, and this world's veil of blue; Rejoicing to behold again The dwellings of the sons of men.
If there be sounds -- they will but be
Till all around her seem to be
THE FAMILY PICTURE.
BY SIR AUBREY DE VERE HUNT, BART.
With work in hand, perchance some fairy cap,
TIE GRAVE OF KÖRNER.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
Charles Theodore Körner, the celebrated young German poet and soldier, was killed in a skirmish with a detachment of French troops, on the 26th August, 1813, a few hours after the composition of his popular piece, “ The Sword Song." He was buried at the village of Wöbbelin, in Mecklenburgh, under a beautiful oak, in a recess of which he had frequently deposited verses, composed by him while campaigning in its vicinity. The monument erected to his memory beneath this tree, is of cast iron, and the upper part is wrought into a lyre and sword, a favourite emblem of Körner's, from which one of his Works had been entitled. Near the grave of the poet is that of his only sister, who died of grief for his loss, having only survived him long enough to complete his portrait, and a drawing of his burial place. Over the gate of the cemetery is engraved one of his own lines :--“Vergiss die treuen Tödten nicht.”—Forget not the faithful dead. - See Downes' Letters from Mecklenburgh, and Körner's Prosaische Aufsätze, &c. Von C. A. Tiedge.
Green wave the oak for ever o'er thy rest!
Thou of the Lyre and Sword !
Rest, bard! rest soldier! - By the father's hand
With freedom and with God!
The oak waved proudly o'er thy burial-rite,
That Lyre and Sword were broken!
Thou hast a hero's tomb! - A lowlier bed