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NONE REMEMBER THEE.

Like a winter bud that too soon hath burst,
Thy cheek was fading from the first-
And none remember thee

Save me!

None remember thee! they could spy
Nought when they gazed on thee,
But thy soul's deep love in thy quiet eye-
It hath pass'd from their memory.

The gifts of genius were not thine,
Proudly before the world to shine-
And none remember thee

Save me!

None remember thee now thou 'rt gone!
Or they could not choose but weep,
When they thought of thee, my gentle one,
In thy long and lonely sleep.

Fain would I murmur thy name, and tell
How fondly together we used to dwell-
But none remember thee

Save me!

Hon. Mrs. Norton.

THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.

THEY grew in beauty side by side,

They filled one home with glee,
Their graves are severed far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea.

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THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD

She had each folded flower in sight-
Where are those dreamers now?

One midst the forests of the West,
By a dark stream, is laid;
The Indian knows his place of rest

Far in the cedar shade.

The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one,
He lies where pearls lie deep,
He was the loved of all, yet none
O'er his low bed may weep.

One sleeps where southern vines are drest
Above the noble slain;

He wrapt his colours round his breast

On a blood-red field of Spain.
And one-o'er her the myrtle showers
Its leaves, by soft winds fanned;

She faded midst Italian flowers,

The last of that bright band.

And, parted thus, they rest-who played
Beneath the same green tree,

Whose voices mingled as they prayed

Around one parent knee!

They that with smiles lit up the hall,

And cheered with song the hearth,

Alas for love, if thou wert all,

And nought beyond, oh earth!

Mrs. Hemans.

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It seems but yesterday, my love, thy little heart beat high; And I had almost scorn'd the voice that told me thou must die. I saw thee move with active bound, with spirits wild and free, And infant grace and beauty gave their glorious charm to thee.

Far on the sunny plains, I saw thy sparkling footsteps fly,
Firm, light, and graceful, as the bird that cleaves the morning sky;
And often, as the playful breeze waved back thy shining hair,
Thy cheek display'd the red rose tint that health had painted there.

TO WILLIAM.

And then, in all my thoughtfulness, I could not but rejoice,
To hear upon the morning wind the music of thy voice,-
Now echoing in the rapturous laugh, now sad almost to tears;
'Twas like the sounds I used to hear in old and happier years.

Thanks for that memory to thee, my lovely little boy,

That memory of my youthful bliss, which Time would fain destroy. I listen'd, as the mariner suspends the out-bound oar,

To taste the farewell gale that breathes from off his native shore.

So gentle in thy loveliness!-alas! how could it be,
That Death would not forbear to lay his icy hand on thee?
Nor spare thee yet a little while, in childhood's opening bloom?
While many a sad and weary soul was longing for the tomb?

Was mine a happiness too pure for erring man to know?
Or why did Heaven so soon destroy my Paradise below?
Enchanting as the vision was, it sunk away as soon

As when, in quick and cold eclipse, the sun grows dark at noon.

I loved thee, and my heart was bless'd; but, ere that day was spent,

I saw thy light and graceful form in drooping illness bent,

And shudder'd as I cast a look upon thy fainting head;

The mournful cloud was gathering there, and life was almost fled.

Days pass'd; and soon the seal of death made known that hope was vain,

I knew the swiftly-wasting lamp would never burn again;-
The cheek was pale, the snowy lips were gently thrown apart;
And life, in every passing breath, seemed gushing from the heart.

I knew those marble lips to mine should never more be press'd,
And floods of feeling, undefined, rolled widely o'er my breast:
Low, stifled sounds, and dusky forms, seem'd moving in the gloom,
As if Death's dark array were come to bear thee to the tomb.

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