"Thou art gone home, gone home !" then high and

clear.

Warbled that other voice.

Again to shed;

"Thou hast no tear

Never to fold the robe o'er secret pain;

Never, weigh'd down by memory's clouds, again
To bow thy head."

"Thou art gone home! O early crown'd and blest! Where could the love of that deep heart find rest With aught below?

Thou must have seen rich dream by dream decay,
All the bright rose-leaves drop from life away-
Thrice bless'd to go!"

Yet sigh'd again that breeze-like voice of grief— "Thou art gone hence! Alas, that aught so brief, So loved should be!

Thou takest our summer hence !-the flower, the tone, The music of our being-all in one,

Depart with thee!

"Fair form, young spirit, morning vision, fled
Canst thou be of the dead, the awful dead-
The dark unknown?

Yes! to the dwelling where no footsteps fall,
Never again to light up hearth or hall;
Thy smile is gone!"

"Home, home!" once more the exulting voice arose, "Thou art gone home !-from that divine repose Never to roam!

Never to say farewell, to weep in vain,
To read of change in eyes beloved again-
Thou art gone home!

"By the bright waters now thy lot is cast-
Joy for thee, happy friend! thy bark hath past.
The rough sea's foam!

Now the long yearnings of thy soul are still'd—
Home! home! thy peace is won, thy heart is fill'd;
Thou art gone Home!"

FINIS.

James Charles, Printer, 61, Middle Abbey-st., Dublin.