Even as I write, before me seem to rise,

Like stars in darkness, well remembered eyes

Whose light but lately shone on earth's en

deavour,

Now vanished from this troubled world for ever.

Oh! missed and mourned by many,-I being

one,

HERBERT, not vainly thy career was run;

Nor shall Death's shadow, and the folding

shroud,

Veil from the future years thy worth allowed.

Since all thy life thy single hope and aim
Was to do good,—not make thyself a name,-

"Tis fit that by the good remaining yet,
Thy name be one men never can forget.
Oh! eyes I first knew in our mutual youth,

So full of limpid earnestness and truth;
Eyes I saw fading still, as day by day

L

The body, not the spirit's strength, gave way;

Eyes that I last saw lifting their farewell

To the now darkened windows where I dwell,-
And wondered, as I stood there sadly gazing,
If Death were brooding in their faint upraising ;
If never more thy footstep light should cross

My threshold stone-but friends bewail thy loss,
And She bewidowed young, who lonely trains
Children that boast thy good blood in their
veins;

Fair eyes,—your light was quenched while men

still thought

To see those tasks to full perfection brought!

But GooD is not a shapeless mass of stone,

Hewn by man's hands and worked by him alone;

It is a seed God suffers One to sow,

Many to reap; and when the harvests grow,

GOD giveth increase through all coming years,

And lets us reap in joy, seed that was sown in

tears.

Brave heart! true soldier's son; set at thy post,

Deserting not till life itself was lost;

Thou faithful sentinel for others' weal,

Clad in a surer panoply than steel,

A resolute purpose,-sleep, as heroes sleep,

Slain, but not conquered! We thy loss must

weep,

And while our sight the mist of sorrow dims,

Feel all these comforting words die down like

hymns

Hushed after service in cathedral walls ;

But proudly on thy name thy country calls,

By thee raised higher than the highest place

Yet won by any of thy ancient race.

Be thy sons like thee! Sadly as I bend

Above the page, I write thy name, lost friend! With a friend's name this brief book did begin, And a friend's name shall end it: names that win

Happy remembrance from the great and good; Names that shall sink not in oblivion's flood,

Bit with clear music, like a church-bell's chime, Sound through the river's sweep of onward rushing Time!

NOTES.

NOTE 1, page 135, line 11.

"Like her whose Shadow made the soldier's light."

ERY sure I am that the great American poet, LONGFELLOW, would not refuse me permission to append here, in lieu of any note of explanation, his own beautiful lines on Miss Nightingale, alluding to the anecdote

of a dying soldier pressing his lips to her shadow on the wall.

SANTA FILOMENA.

From the Atlantic Monthly.

Whene'er a noble deed is wrought,
Whene'er is spoken a noble thought,
Our hearts, in glad surprise,
To higher levels rise.