'Tis vain to struggle-let me perish young Live as I lived, and love as I have loved : To dust if I return, from dust I sprung, And then, at least, my heart can ne'er be moved. THE CHURCHYARD. L. E. LANDON. The shadow of the church falls o'er the ground, Make the spot sacred with themselves, and wake Which purify it, like a temple meet For an unearthly presence. Life, vain Life, The willow shade is on the ground, And every breath that waves a leaf Those sweet, vague sounds are on the air, It is the very place to dream Away a twilight's idle rest; Where Thought floats down a starry stream, Without a shadow on its breast. Where Wealth, the fairy gift, 's our own, Where hopes are high, yet cares come not, Those fellow-waves of life's drear sea, Its froth and depth-where Love is what Love only in a dream can be. I cannot muse beside that mound I cannot dream beneath that shadeToo solemn is the haunted ground Where death his resting-place has made. I feel my heart beat but to think There is a name upon the stone Alas! and can it be the same The young, the lovely, and the loved?— Too soon!-oh no, 'tis best to die Why live when feelings, friends, and hopes, Have long been numbered with the dead? But thou, thy heart and cheek were bright— Will only be to thee thine own. Thou knew'st no rainbow-hopes that weep Should make the wakening heart afraid. The green leaves e'en in spring they fall, For human tears are lava-drops, That scorch and wither as they flow; Then let them flow for those who live, And not for those who sleep below. Oh, weep for those whose silver chain Has long been loosed, and yet live onThe doomed to drink of life's dark wave, Whose golden bowl has long been gone! Ay, weep for those, the wearied, worn, Dragged downward by some earthly tie, By some vain hope, some vainer love, Who loathe to live, yet fear to die. THE BATTLE FIELD. MRS. HEMANS. I LOOKED on the field where the battle was spread, When thousands stood forth in their glancing array, And the beam from the steel of the valiant was shed Through the dun rolling clouds that o'ershadowed the fray. I saw the dark forest of lances appear, As the ears of the harvest unnumbered they stood; Afar, the harsh notes of the war-drum were rolled, I looked on the field of contention again, When the sabre was sheathed, and the tempest had past; The wild weed and thistle grew rank on the plain, And the fern softly sighed in the low wailing blast. Unmoved as the lake in its hour of repose, And bright shone the stars through the sky's deepened blue; And sweetly the song of the night-bird arose, of dew. M 3 But where swept the ranks of that dark-frowning host, As the ocean in might—as the storm-cloud in speed! Where now were the thunders of victory's boast,— The slayer's dread wrath, and the strength of the steed! Not a time-wasted cross, not a mouldering stone, Oh! Glory!-beyond thy famed guerdon's extent, For this toil thy slaves through their earth-wasting lot; A name like the mist, when night's beacons are spentA grave, with its tenants unwept and forgot! THE SHIP AT SEA. MALCOLM. A WHITE Sail gleaming on the flood, Of the circling sea and sky; Led by the magnet o'er the tides, Sure as unerring instinct guides With wings that o'er the waves expand, |