!

Hath not thy voice been here amongst us heard?
And that deep soul of gentleness and power,
Have we not felt its breath in every word,

Wont from thy lip, as Hermon's dew, to shower?
Yes, in our hearts thy fervent thoughts have burn’d—
Of heaven they were, and thither have return'd.

How shall we mourn thee?-With a lofty trust,
Our life's immortal birthright from above!
With a glad faith, whose eye, to track the just,

Through shades and mysteries lifts a glance of love,
And yet can weep!-for nature thus deplores
The friend that leaves us, though for happier shores.

And one high tone of triumph o'er thy bier,
One strain of solemn rapture be allow'd!
Thou, that rejoicing on thy mid career

Not to decay, but unto death hast bow'd;
In those bright regions of the rising sun,
Where victory ne'er a crown like thine had won.

Praise for yet one more name with power endow'd,
To cheer and guide us, onward as we press;
Yet one more image on the heart bestow'd
To dwell there, beautiful in holiness!

Thine, Heber, thine; whose memory from the dead,
Shines as the star which to the Saviour led.

ST. ASAPH, Sept. 1826.

THE ADOPTED CHILD.

"WHY wouldst thou leave me, O gentle child?
Thy home on the mountain is bleak and wild,
A straw-roof'd cabin, with lowly wall-
Mine is a fair and a pillar'd hall,

Where many an image of marble gleams,
And the sunshine of pictures for ever streams."

"Oh! green is the turf where my brothers play, Through the long bright hours of the summer day; They find the red cup-moss where they climb, And they chase the bee o'er the scented thyme, And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms they know

Lady, kind lady! O, let me go."

"Content thee, boy! in my bower to dwell, Here are sweet sounds which thou lovest well;

Flutes on the air in the stilly noon,

Harps which the wandering breezes tune,
And the silvery wood-note of many a bird,
Whose voice was ne'er in thy mountains heard."

"Oh! my mother sings, at the twilight's fall,
A song of the hills far more sweet than all;
She sings it under our own green tree,
To the babe half slumbering on her knee;
I dreamt last night of that music low-
Lady, kind lady! O, let me go."

Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest, She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast;

Thou would'st meet her footstep, my boy, no more, Nor hear her song at the cabin door.

Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh,

And we'll pluck the grapes of the richest dye."

"Is my mother gone from her home away ? But I know that my brothers are there at playI know they are gathering the foxglove's bell, Or the long fern leaves by the sparkling well; Or they launch their boats where the bright streams flow

Lady, kind lady! O, let me go."

"Fair child, thy brothers are wanderers now,
They sport no more on the mountain's brow;
They have left the fern by the spring's green side,
And the streams where the fairy barks were tried.
Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot,
For thy cabin home is a lonely spot."

"Are they gone, all gone from the sunny hill?—
But the bird and the blue-fly rove o'er it still ;
And the red-deer bound in their gladness free,
And the heath is bent by the singing bee,
And the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow-
Lady, kind lady! O, let me go."

VOL. V. 24

INVOCATION.

"I call'd on dreams and visions, to disclose

That which is veil'd from waking thought; conjured
Eternity, as men constrain a ghost

To appear and answer."

WORDSWORTH.

ANSWER me, burning stars of night!
Where is the spirit gone,

That past the reach of human sight,
As a swift breeze hath flown?-
And the stars answer'd me- "We roll
In light and power on high;
But, of the never-dying soul,
Ask that which cannot die."

Oh! many-toned and chainless wind!
Thou art a wanderer free;

Tell me if thou its place canst find,
Far over mount and sea?
And the wind murmur'd in reply-
"The blue deep I have cross'd,
And met its barks and billows high,
But not what thou hast lost."

Ye clouds, that gorgeously repose
Around the setting sun,
Answer! have ye a home for those
Whose earthly race is run?

The bright clouds answer'd-" We depart,
We vanish from the sky;

Ask what is deathless in thy heart,

For that which cannot die."

L

Speak then, thou voice of God within,
Thou of the deep, low tone!
Answer me, through life's restless din,
Where is the spirit flown?

And the voice answer'd- "Be thou still!
Enough to know is given;

Clouds, winds, and stars their part fulfil,
Thine is to trust in Heaven."

KÖRNER AND HIS SISTER.

Charles Theodore Körner, the celebrated young German poet and soldier, was killed in a skirmish with a detachment of French troops, on the 20th of August 1813, a few hours after the composition of his popular piece, The Sword Song. He was buried at the village of Wöbbelin in Mecklenburg, 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 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 Richardson's Translation of Körner's Life and Works, and Downes' Letters from Mecklenburg.

GREEN wave the oak for ever o'er thy rest,
Thou that beneath its crowning foliage sleepest,