MARY AND AGNES BERRY.

NOVEMBER 27, 1852.

Two friends within one grave we place,
United in our tears,

Sisters, scarce parted for the space

Of more than eighty years:

And she, whose bier is borne to-day,

The one the last to go,

Bears with her thoughts that force their way

Above the moment's woe:

Thoughts of the varied human life
Spread o'er that field of time-
The toil, the passion, and the strife,
The virtue and the crime:

Yet 'mid this long tumultuous scene,
The image on our mind

Of these dear women rests serene
In happy bounds confined.

Within one undisturbed abode

Their presence seems to dwell,

From which continual pleasures flowed,
And countless graces fell :
Not unbecoming this our age
Of decorative forms,
Yet simple as the hermitage
Exposed to Nature's storms.

Our English grandeur on the shelf
Deposed its decent gloom,
And every pride unloosed itself

Within that modest room;

Where none were sad and few were dull,

And each one said his best,

And beauty was most beautiful,
With vanity at rest.

Brightly the day's discourse rolled on,

Still casting on the shore Memorial pearls of times bygone

And worthies now no more:

And little tales of long ago

Took meaning from those lips, Wise chroniclers of joy and woe, And eyes without eclipse.

No taunt or scoff obscured the wit
That there rejoiced to reign;
They never would have laughed at it
If it had carried pain.

There needless scandal, e'en though true,

Provoked no bitter smile,

And even men-of-fashion grew

Benignant for awhile.

Not that there lacked the nervous scorn

At every public wrong—

Not that a friend was left forlorn

When victim of the strong;

Free words expressing generous blood
No nice punctilio weighed,
For deep an earnest womanhood
Their reason underlaid.

As generations onward came
They loved from all to win
Revival of the sacred flame

That glowed their hearts within ;
While others in time's greedy mesh
The faded garlands flung,

Their hearts went out and gathered fresh Affections from the young.

Farewell, dear Ladies! in your loss
We feel the past recede,

The gap, our hands could almost cross,
Is now a gulf indeed.

Ye, and the days in which your claims
And charms were early known,
Lose substance, and ye stand as names
That history makes its own.

Farewell! the pleasant social page
Is read; but ye remain
Examples of ennobled age,

Long life without a stain;
A lesson to be scorned by none,
Least by the wise and brave,
Delightful as the winter sun

That gilds this open grave.

LADY CAMPBELL.

GENTLY supported by the ready aid
Of loving hands, whose little work of toil
Her grateful prodigality repaid

With all the benediction of her smile,

She turned her failing feet

To the soft-pillowed seat,

Dispensing kindly greetings all the while.

Before the tranquil beauty of her face
I bowed in spirit, thinking that she were
A suffe'ring Angel, whom the special grace
Of God entrusted to our pious care,

That we might learn from her
The art to minister

To heavenly beings in seraphic air.

There seemed to lie a weight upon her brain, That ever pressed her blue-veined eyelids down, But could not dim her lustrous eyes with pain, Nor seam her forehead with the faintest frown : She was as she were proud,

So young, to be allowed

To follow Him who wore the thorny crown.

Nor was she sad, but over every mood,
To which her lightly-pliant mind gave birth,
Gracefully changing, did a spirit brood,
Of quiet gaiety, and serenest mirth;

And thus her voice did flow,

So beautifully low,

A stream whose music was no thing of earth,

Now long that instrument has ceased to sound,
Now long that gracious form in earth has lain
Tended by nature only, and unwound

Are all those mingled threads of Love and Pain;
So let me weep and bend

My head and wait the end,

Knowing that God creates not thus in vain.

GEORGE VERNON COLEBROKE.

THOU too art gone, and yet I hardly know
Why thou didst care to go:

Thou wert so well at heart, so spirit-clear,
So heavenly-calm, though here;

But thus it is; and, it would seem, no more
Can we, who on the shore

Of the loud world still walk, escape the din,
And lie awhile within

The quiet sunlight of thy filmless mind

And rise refreshed, refined;

Yet am I mild and tempered in my grief,

Having a sure relief ;——

For these dear hours on life's dull length were sprent,

By rarest accident,

And now I have thee by me when I will,

Hear thy wise words, and fill

My soul with thy calm looks; now I can tame

Ill thoughts by thy mere name.