To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind; And the New-Year's coming up, mother, but I shall never see The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree. Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry day; Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May; And we danced about the May-pole and in the hazel copse, Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white chimneytops. There's not a flower on all the hills; the frost is on the pane: I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again: I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high: I long to see a flower so before the day I die. The building rook 'ill caw from the windy tall elm-tree, And the swallow 'ill come back again with summer o'er the wave, But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave. Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine, In the early, early morning the summer sun 'ill shine, Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill, When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is still. When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night; When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool On the oat-grass, and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool. You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade, And you'll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid. I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you pass, With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass. I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me now: You'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow: Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child. If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my restingplace; Though you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face; Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you say, And be often, often with you when you think I'm far away. Good-night, good-night, when I have said good-night forevermore, And you see me carried out from the threshold of the door: Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green: She'll be a better child to you than ever I have been. She'll find my garden tools upon the granary floor: Let her take 'em: they are hers: I shall never garden more: But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush that I set About the parlor-window, and the box of mignonette. Good-night, sweet mother; call me before the day is born, CONCLUSION. I thought to pass away before, and yet alive I am; And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of the lamb. llow sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the year! To die before the snowdrop came, and now the violet's here. O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies, And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that cannot rise. And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers that blow, And sweeter far is death than life to me that longs to go. It seemed so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed sun, And now it seems as hard to stay and yet, His will be done! But still I think it can't be long before I find release; And that good man, the clergyman, has told me words of peace. O blessings on his kindly voice, and on his silver hair! O blessings on his kindly heart, and on his silver head! He taught me all the mercy, for he showed me all the sin. Now, though my lamp was lighted late, there's One wil let me in: Nor would I now be well, mother, again, if that could be, For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for me. I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death watch beat, There came a sweeter token when the night and morning meet: But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand in mine, And Effie on the other side, and I will tell the sign. All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels call: all; The bees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll, And in the wild March-morning I heard them call my soul. For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie dear; And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind. I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in my bed, was said; For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind, And up the valley came again the music on the wind. But you were sleeping; and I said, "It's not for them it's mine." And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it for a sign. And once again it came, and close beside the window-bars, Then seemed to ge right up to heaven and die among the stars. So now I think my time is near: I trust it is. I know And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not to fret : There's many worthier than I, would make him happy yet. If I had lived-I cannot tell-I might have been his wife; But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life. O look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow; He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know. And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine. O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done, The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the sun. — Forever and forever with those just souls and true And what is life, that we should moan? why make we such ado? Forever and forever, all in a blessed home And there to wait a little while till you and Effie come- rest. TUBAL CAIN.-Charles Mackay. OLD Tubal Cain was a man of might And he lifted high his brawny hand On the iron glowing clear, Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers And he sang, "Hurrah for my handiwork! Hurrah for the spear and sword! Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well! To Tubal Cain came many a one, And each one prayed for a strong steel blade, And he made them weapons sharp and strong, And gave him gifts of pearls and gold, And spoils of forest free. And they sang, "Hurrah for Tubal Cain, Who hath given us strength anew! Hurrah for the smith! hurrah for the fire! And hurrah for the metal true!" But a sudden change came o'er his heart And Tubal Cain was filled with pain For the evil he had done. He saw that men, with rage and hate, Made war upon their kind; That the land was red with the blood they shed In their lust for carnage blind. And he said, "Alas, that ever I made, Or that skill of mine should plan, The spear and the sword, for men whose joy Is to slay their fellow-man!” And for many a day old Tubal Cain Sat brooding o'er his woe; And his hand forbore to smite the ore, And his furnace smouldered low; But he rose at last with a cheerful face, And a bright, courageous eye, And bared his strong right arm for work, While the quick flames mounted high; And he sang, "Hurrah for my handiwork!" And the red sparks lit the air "Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made". · And he fashioned the first ploughshare. |