All happy things that love the sun

In the bright air glanc'd by,

And a glad murmur seem'd to run

Thro' the soft azure sky.

Fresh leaves were on the ivy-bough

That fring'd the ruins near;

Young voices were abroad-but thou
Their sweetness couldst not hear.

And mournful grew my heart for thee,

Thou in whose woman's mind

The

ray that brightens earth and sea,

The light of song was shrined.

Mournful, that thou wert slumbering low,

With a dread curtain drawn

Between thee and the golden glow

Of this world's vernal dawn.

Parted from all the song

and bloom

Thou wouldst have lov'd so well,

To thee the sunshine round thy tomb

Was but a broken spell.

The bird, the insect on the wing,

In their bright reckless play,

Might feel the flush and life of spring,— And thou wert pass'd away!

But then, ev'n then, a nobler thought

O'er

my vain sadness came;

Th' immortal spirit woke, and wrought

Within my thrilling frame.

Surely on lovelier things, I said,

Thou must have look'd ere now,

Than all that round our pathway shed

Odours and hues below.

The shadows of the tomb are here,

Yet beautiful is earth!

What seest thou then where no dim fear, No haunting dream hath birth?

Here a vain love to passing flowers
Thou gav'st-but where thou art,
The sway is not with changeful hours,
There love and death must part.

Thou hast left sorrow in thy song,

A voice not loud, but deep!

The glorious bowers of earth among,

How often didst thou weep!

Where couldst thou fix on mortal ground

Thy tender thoughts and high ?—

Now

peace the woman's heart hath found,

And joy the poet's eye.

NOTES

ΤΟ

RECORDS OF WOMAN.

Note 1, page 8, lines 6 and 7.

When darkness, from the vainly-doting sight,
Covers its beautiful!

"Wheresoever you are, or in what state soever you be, it sufficeth me you are mine. Rachel wept, and would not be comforted, because her children were no more. And that, indeed, is the remediless sorrow, and none else!"-From a letter of Arabella Stuart's to her husband.-See Curiosities of Literature.

Note 2, page 17, lines 9 and 10.

Death!-what, is death a lock'd and treasur'd thing,
Guarded by swords of fire?

"And if you remember of old, I dare die.

-Consider

what the world would conceive, if I should be violently

enforced to do it."-Fragments of her Letters.