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An Evening Guest,
John Wilson. 408
George Croly. 412
Emily C. Judson. 414
OUR POETICAL FAVORITES.
E count the broken lyres that rest
The wild-flowers who will stoop to number?
A few can touch the magic string,
And noisy fame is proud to win them; Alas for those who never sing,
But die with all their music in them!
Nay, grieve not for the dead alone
Whose song has told their hearts' sad story;
O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow, But where the glistening night-dews weep O'er nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow.
O hearts that break and give no sign
To every hidden pang were given,
As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven!