Then mourn not death; 'tis but a stair Built with divinest art,

Up which the deathless footsteps climb

Of loved ones who depart.

LIGHT ON THE CLOUD.

It is dark on only the downward side;
Though rage the tempest loud,
And scatter its terrors far and wide,
There's light upon the cloud.

And often, when it traileth low,
Shutting the landscape out,
And only the chilly east-winds blow
From the foggy seas of doubt,

sky,

There's never a vale so fair, But over it sometimes shadows lie In a chill and songless air.

But never a cloud o'erhung the day, And flung its shadows down,

But on its heaven-side gleamed some ray

Forming a sunshine crown.

sun,

THE OLD MAN'S MOTTO. "GIVE me a motto," said a youth To one whom years had rendered wise; "Some pleasant thought, or weighty truth,

That briefest syllables comprise; Some word of warning or of cheer To grave upon my signet here.

66

'And, reverend father," said the boy,

"Since life, they say, is ever made A mingled web of grief and joy; Since cares may come and pleasures fade,

Pray, let the motto have a range
Of meaning matching every change."

"Sooth!" said the sire, "methinks you ask

A labor something over-nice, That well a finer brain might task. What think you, lad, of this device (Older than I, though I am gray). 'Tis simple, This will pass away.'

"When wafted on by Fortune's breeze,

In endless peace thou seem'st to glide, Prepare betimes for rougher seas,

And check the boast of foolish

pride;

Though smiling joy is thine to-day, Remember, This will pass away!"

"When all the sky is draped in black, And, beaten by tempestuous gales, Thy shuddering ship seems all awrack,

Then trim again thy tattered sails; To grim Despair be not a prey; Bethink thee, "This will pass away.'

"Thus, O my son, be not o'er-proud, Nor yet cast down; judge thou aright;

When skies are clear, expect the cloud;

In darkness, wait the coming light; Whatever be thy fate to-day, Remember, 'This will pass away!'"

And all the neighbors flocked to see; "Poor little Jerry!" was all they said.

They laid him in his earthly bed, His miller's coat his only shroud; "Dust to dust," the parson said,

And all the people wept aloud.

For he had shunned the deadly sin,
And not a grain of over-toll
Had ever dropped into his bin,

To weigh upon his parting soul.

Beneath the hill there stands the mill. Of wasting wood and crumbling The wheel is dripping and clattering stone; [still, But Jerry, the miller, is dead and gone.

WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO KNOW!

A MADRIGAL.

I KNOW a girl with teeth of pearl,
And shoulders white as snow;
She lives, ah! well,
I must not tell, -
Wouldn't you like to know?

Her sunny hair is wondrous fair,
And wavy in its flow;

Who made it less
One little tress.
Wouldn't you like to know?

Her eyes are blue (celestial hue!)
And dazzling in their glow;
On whom they beam
With melting gleam,
Wouldn't you like to know?

Her lips are red and finely wed,
Like roses ere they blow;

What lover sips
Those dewy lips,
Wouldn't you like to know?

Her fingers are like lilies fair
When lilies fairest grow;

Whose hand they press
With fond caress;
Wouldn't you like to know?

[From The Lady of the Lake.]

A SCENE IN THE HIGHLANDS. THE western waves of ebbing day Rolled o'er the glen their level way; Each purple peak, each flinty spire, Was bathed in floods of living fire, But not a setting beam could glow Within the dark ravines below,

Where twined the path in shadow hid,

Round many a rocky pyramid,
Shooting abruptly from the dell
Its thunder-splintered pinnacle;
Round many an insulated mass,
The native bulwarks of the pass,
Huge as the tower which builders
vain

Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain.
The rocky summit, split and rent,
Formed turret, dome, or battlement,
Or seemed fantastically set
With cupola or minaret,
Wild crests as pagod ever decked
Or mosque of Eastern architect.
Nor were these earth-born castles
bare,

Nor lacked they many a banner fair; For, from their shivered brows displayed,

Far o'er the unfathomable glade,
All twinkling with the dewdrops

sheen,

The brier-rose fell in streainers green, And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes,

Waved in the west-wind's summer sighs.

Boon nature scattered, free and wild, Each plant or flower, the mountain's child,

Here eglantine embalmed the air, Hawthorn and hazel mingled there; The primrose pale and violet flower, Found in each cliff a narrow bower;

Fox-glove and night-shade, side by side,

Emblems of punishment and pride, Grouped their dark hues with every stain

The weather-beaten crags retain. With boughs that quaked at every breath,

Gray birch and aspen wept beneath;
Aloft the ash and warrior oak
Cast anchor in the rifted rock;
And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung
His shattered trunk, and frequent
flung,

Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high,

His boughs athwart the narrowed Highest of all, where white peaks sky. glanced,

Where glist'ning streamers waved and danced,

The wanderer's eye could barely view The summer heaven's delicious blue; So wondrous wild, the whole might