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"The loved hour of repose is striking, Let us come to the Sunset Tree."-See Captain Sherer's interesting "Notes and Refections during a Ramble in Germany."

But rest, more sweet and still
Than ever night-fall gave,
Our longing hearts shall fill,
In the world beyond the grave.

There shall no tempest blow
No scorching noon-tide beat;
There shall be no more snow,
No weary wandering feet.

And we lift our trusting eyes,
From the hills our fathers trod,
To the quiet of the skies,

To the sabbath of our God.

Come to the Sun-set Tree!
The day is past and gone;
The woodman's axe lies free,
And the reaper's work is done.


HEARD'ST thou what the Ivy sigh'd,
Waving where all else hath died,
In the place of regal mirth,

Now the silent Kenilworth?

With its many-glistening leaves,
There a solemn robe it weaves;
And a voice is in each fold,
Like an oracle's of old.

Heard'st thou, while with dews of night
Shone its berries darkly bright?
Yes! the whisperer seem'd to say
"All things-all things pass away!



THE IVY OF KENILWORTH. "Where I am, the harp hath rung Banners and proud shields among, And the blood-red wine flow'd free, And the fire shot sparks of glee.

"Where I am, now last and lone,
Queenly steps have come and gone;
Gorgeous masques have glided by,
Unto rolling harmony.

"Flung from these illumined towers,
Light hath pierced the forest bowers;
Lake, and pool, and fount, have been
Kindled by their midnight sheen.

"Where is now the feasting high?
Where the lordly minstrelsy?
Where the tourney's ringing spear?
-I am sole and silent here!

"In my home no hearth is crown'd
Through my halls no wine foams round,
By my gates hath ceased the lay-
All things-all things pass away!"

Yes! thy warning voice I knew,
Ivy! and its tale is true:
All is passing, or hath pass'd-
Thou thyself must perish last!

Yet my secret soul replied,
"Surely one thing shall abide ;
'Midst the wreck of ages, one,
Heaven's eternal Word alone!"


WHERE art thou, Boy?-Heaven, Heaven! the babe is playing,

Even on the margin of the dizzy steep!

Haste-hush!-a breath, my agony betraying,

And he is gone!-beneath him rolls the deep! Could I but keep the bursting cry suppress'd And win him back in silence to my breast!

Thou'rt safe!-Thou com'st with smiles my fond arms meeting,

Blest, fearless child!-I, I have tasted death!
Nearer! that I may feel thy warm heart beating!
And see thy bright hair floating in my breath!
Nearer to still my bosom's yearning pain,-
I clasp thee now, mine own! thou'st here again!





No more of talk, where God or Angel guest
With man, as with his friend, familar used
To sit indulgent, and with him partake
Rural repast.


ARE ye for ever to your skies departed?
Oh! will ye visit this dim world no more?
Ye whose bright wings a solemn splendour darted
Thro' Eden's fresh and flowering shades of yore?
Now are the fountains dried on that sweet spot,
And ye-our faded earth beholds you not!

Yet, by your shining eyes not all forsaken,
Man wandered from his Paradise away;
Ye, from forgetfulness his heart to waken,
Came down, high guests! in many a later day,
And with the Patriarchs under vine or oak,
Midst noontide calm or hush of evening spoke.

From you, the veil of midnight darkness rending,
Came the rich mysteries to the sleeper's eye,
That saw your hosts ascending and descending,
On those bright steps between the earth and sky;
Trembling he woke, and bow'd o'er glory's trace,
And worshipp'd, awe-struck, in that fearful place.

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