These flowers, all withered now,

like thee,

Sweet SISTER, thou didst cull for me;

This book was thine; here didst thou read;

This picture, ah! yes, here, indeed,
I see thee still.

I see thee still;

Here was thy summer noon's retreat,
Here was thy favorite fireside seat;
This was thy chamber — here, each day,
I sat and watched thy sad decay;
Here, on this bed, thou last didst lie,
Here, on this pillow-thou didst die.
Dark hour! once more its woes unfold;

As then I saw thee, pale and cold,
I see thee still.

I see thee still;

Thou art not in the grave confined
Death cannot claim the immortal Mind;
Let Earth close o'er its sacred trust,
But goodness dies not in the dust;
Thee, O my SISTER, 'tis not thee
Beneath the coffin's lid I see;
Thou to a fairer land art gone;

There, let me hope, my journey done,
To see thee still!

THE FAMILY MEETING.

[These lines were written on occasion of the accidental meeting of all the surviving members of a family, the father and mother of which, one eighty-two, the other eighty years old, have lived in the same house fifty-three years.]

WE are all here!

Father, Mother,

Sister, Brother,

All who hold each other dear.

Each chair is filled - we're all at home;
To-night let no cold stranger come;

It is not often thus around

Our old familiar hearth we're found.

Bless, then, the meeting and the spot;

For once be every care forgot;

Let gentle Peace assert her

power,

We're not all here!

Some are away the dead ones dear,

-

Who thronged with us this ancient hearth,
And
gave the hour to guiltless mirth.
Fate, with a stern, relentless hand,
Looked in and thinned our little band;

Some like a night-flash passed away,
And some sank, lingering, day by day;
The quiet graveyard - some lie there-
And cruel Ocean has his share -

We're not all here.

We are all here!

Even they - the dead

though dead, so dear.

Fond Memory, to her duty true,
Brings back their faded forms to view.
How life-like, through the mist of years,
Each well-remembered face appears!
We see them as in times long past;
From each to each kind looks are cast;
We hear their words, their smiles behold,
They're round us as they were of old

We are all here.

We are all here!

Father, Mother,

Sister, Brother,

You that I love with love so dear.
This may not long of us be said;
Soon must we join the gathered dead ;
And by the hearth we now sit round,
Some other circle will be found.
O, then, that wisdom may we know,
Which yields a life of peace below!
So, in the world to follow this,
May each repeat, in words of bliss,
We're all- all here!

TO MY CIGAR.

YES, social friend, I love thee well,
In learned doctors' spite;
Thy clouds all other clouds dispel,
And lap me in delight.

What though they tell, with phizzes long,
My years are sooner passed?
I would reply, with reason strong,
They're sweeter while they last.

And oft, mild friend, to me thou art
A monitor, though still;

Thou speak'st a lesson to my heart
Beyond the preacher's skill.

Thou'rt like the man of worth, who gives

To goodness every day,

The odor of whose virtues lives

When he has passed away.

When in the lonely evening hour,
Attended but by thee,

O'er history's varied page I pore,

Man's fate in thine I see.

Oft as thy snowy column grows,
Then breaks and falls away,

I trace how mighty realms thus rose,
Thus tumbled to decay.

Awhile like thee earth's masters burn,
And smoke and fume around,

And then like thee to ashes turn,
And mingle with the ground.

Life's but a leaf adroitly rolled,
And time's the wasting breath,
That late or early, we behold,
Gives all to dusty death.

From beggar's frieze to monarch's robe, One common doom is passed;

Sweet nature's works, the swelling globe, Must all burn out at last.

And what is he who smokes thee now?

A little moving heap,

That soon like thee to fate must bow,

With thee in dust must sleep.

But though thy ashes downward go,
Thy essence rolls on high;
Thus, when my body must lie low,

My soul shall cleave the sky.