When the air with a deepening hush is fraught, When will ye think of me, kind friends? When the rose of the rich midsummer time When will ye think of me, sweet friends? When the sudden tears o'erflow your eye When ye Thus let my memory be with you, friends! Kindly and gently, but as of one For whom 'tis well to be fled and gone- So let it be. MRS. HEMANS, FAREWELL." AREWELL! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal availed on high, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, Are in that word-Farewell!-Farewell! These lips are mute, these eyes are dry; The thought that shall not sleep again. BYRON. FAREWELL. AREWELL! I shall not be to thee With thy remembrance fraught! Farewell! we have not often met. We may not meet again; Love never sets in vain! No chance, no change, may turn from thee MISS LANDON. MEETING AGAIN. YES, we shall meet again, my cherished friend; Where we have seen the waving corn-fields bend, Not in the well-remembered hall of mirth, Where at the evening hour each heart rejoices, And friends and kindred crowd the social hearth, And the glad breathings of young happy voices Strains of sweet melody in concert pour There we shall meet no more. Not in the haunts of busy strife, which bind Yet mourn not thus: in realms of changeless gladness, |