MY SISTER'S GRAVE.

Vale, vale!-nos te, ordine quo natura permittet, sequemur !

THE noon-day sun is riding high,
Along the calm and cloudless sky!

The mantle of his gorgeous glow

Floats sleepily o'er all below;

And heaven and earth are brightly gay

Beneath the universal ray !—

But not a wandering sunbeam falls
Within these high and hallowed walls,
Which echo back my lonely tread,
Like solemn answers from the dead!
-The murmurs steal along the nave,
And die above-my sister's grave

'Tis evening!--still I linger here,

Yet sorrow speaks not in a tear ;
The silence is so sadly deep,

The place so pure,-I dare not weep!
I sit as in a shapeless dream,
Where all is changing, save its theme;
And, if a sigh will sometimes heave
A heart that loves,-but may not grieve,
It seems as though the spirits round
Sent back reproachfully the sound;
And then I start,—and think I have
A chiding from my sister's grave!

The feeling is a nameless one
With which I sit upon thy stone,

And read the tale I dare not breathe
Of blighted hope that sleeps beneath!

A simple tablet bears above

Brief record of a father's love,

And hints, in language yet more brief,
The story of a father's grief:-

Around, the night-breeze sadly plays
With scutcheons of the elder days;
And faded banners dimly wave,

On high,-right o'er my sister's grave!

Lost spirit! thine was not a breast
To struggle vainly after rest!

Thou wert not made to bear the strife,
Nor labour through the storms of life!
Thy heart was in too warm a mould

To mingle with the dull and cold,
And every thought that wronged thy truth
Fell like a blight upon thy youth !—
Thou shouldst have been, for thy distress,

Less pure, and oh, more passionless!

For sorrow's wasting mildew gave

Its tenant to my sister's grave!

But all thy griefs, my girl, are o'er! Thy fair-blue eyes shall weep no more! 'Tis sweet to know thy fragile form Lies safe from every future storm!Oft, as I haunt the dreary gloom That gathers round thy peaceful tomb, I love to see the lightning stream Along thy stone, with fitful gleam; To fancy in each flash are given Thy spirit's visitings from heaven ;And smile to hear the tempest rave Above my sister's quiet grave!

A CONTRAST.

I SIT, in my lonely mood!

No smiling eyes are near,

And there is not a sound in my solitude,

Save the voice in my dreaming ear!

The friends whom I loved, in light,

Are seen through a twilight dim,

Like fairies, beheld in a moonlight night,

Or heard in a far-off hymn!

The hopes of my youth are away,

My home and its early dreams,

I am far from the land where I used to play,

A child, by its thousand streams!