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Shut out the sunshine from my dying room,
Too much and death is here!
Doth our own spring make happy music now,
From the dread hour so near!
If I could but draw courage from the light
Bearing all strength away!
Leave me! thou com'st between my heart and Hea
ven! I would be still, in voiceless prayer to die! - Why must our souls thus love, and then be riven? - Return! thy parting wakes mine agony !
- Oh, yet awhile delay !
THE MESSAGE TO THE DEAD.'
THOU'Rt passing hence, my brother!
Oh! my earliest friend, farewell!
In a lonely home to dwell;
And from the household-tree,
The brightness goes with thee.
But thou, my friend, my brother!
Thou'rt speeding to the shore
Shall smite the soul no more!
The lost on earth and main ;
Thou wilt be bound again!
Tell, then, our friend of boyhood,
That yet his name is heard
Pass'd like a swift bright bird.
1" Messages from the living to the dead are not uncommon in the Highlands. The Gael have such a ceaseless consciousness of immortality, that their departed friends are considered as merely absent for a time, and permitted to relieve the hours of separation by occasional intercourse with the objects of their earliest affections." —See the notes to Mrs. Brunton's Works.
MESSAGE TO THE DEAD.
The light of his exulting brow,
The visions of his glee,
That smile again to see.
And tell our fair young sister,
The rose cut down in spring, That yet my gushing soul is fillid
With lays she loved to sing,
Tender and sadly sweet;-
Once more that gaze to meet !
And tell our white-hair'd father,
That in the paths he trode,
Yet walks and worships God.
Rests on my soul like dew,
Once more his face to view.
And tell our gentle mother,
pour The sorrows of my spirit forth,
As on her breast of yore.
Our good and bright will see !--
Ere long, with them and thee ! VOL. VI. 7
THE TWO HOMES.
Oh! if the soul immortal be,
Seest thou my home?— 't is where yon woods are
waving, In their dark richness, to the summer air; Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks
laving, Leads down the hills a vein of light,-'tis there!
Midst those green wilds how many a fount lies
gleaming, Fringed with the violet, colour'd with the skies ! My boyhood's haunt, through days of summer dream
ing, Under young leaves that shook with melodies.
My home! the spirit of its love is breathing
There am I loved - there pray'd for-there my
mother Sits by the hearth with meekly thoughtful eye; There my young sisters watch to greet their brother
Soon their glad footsteps down the path will fly.
THE TWO HOMES.
There, in sweet strains of kindred music blending,
Ask’st thou of mine ?— In solemn peace 'tis lying,
Ask where the earth's departed have their dwelling !
And what is home, and where, but with the loving?
Go to thy home, rejoicing son and brother!