Though the heart that sorrow chideth, 'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower, 'Tis midnight-on the globe dead slumber sits, To me, my sweet Kathleen, the Benshee has cried, Upon my father's new closed grave, We sat in a green verandah's shade, Page. 45 6 THE POETICAL MELANGE. THE VOICE OF DEPARTED FRIENDSHIP. I HAD a friend who died in early youth! -And often, in those melancholy dreams, When my soul travels through the umbrage deep Methinks I hear his voice! sweet as the breath Of balmy ground-flowers stealing from some spot To everlasting spring. In the church-yard Where now he sleeps-the day before he died, Till gently laying his pale hand on mine, Pale in the moonlight that was coldly sleeping On heaving sod and marble monument,— This was the music of his last farewell! Weep not, my brother! though thou seest me led, By short and easy stages, day by day, With motion almost imperceptible, Into the quiet grave: God's will be done. My soul oft sat within the shadow of death! I wept and thought how sad for one so young But Christ hath called me from this lower world, Delightful though it be and when I gaze On the green earth, and all its happy hills, Then lifting up his radiant eyes to heaven, |