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They'll put my picture from its place, to fix another there

[so passing fair! That picture that was thought so like, and yet Some chamber in thy father's house they'll let

thee call thine ownOh! take it there to look upon, when thou art

all alone!

To breathe thine early griefs anto-if such assail my child;

(not so mild. To turn to, from less loving looks, from faces Alas! unconscious little one I thou'lt never know

the best, That holiest home of all the earth, a living

mother's breast !

I do repent me now too late, of each impatient

thought, That would not let me tarry out God's leisure

as I ought; I've been too hasty, peevish, proud,—I longed to

go away: And now I'd fain live on for thee, God will not

let me stay.

Thou'lt have thy father's eyes, my child !-oh!

once how kind they were ! His long black lashes_his own smile, and just

such raven hair ;-

THE DYING MOTHER TO HER INFANT.

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But here's a mark-poor innocent- he'll love

thee for't the less, Like that upon thy mother's cheek, his lips were

wont to press.

And yet, perhaps I do him wrong-perhaps,

when all's forgot [kiss this very spot. But our young loves, in memory's mood,- he'll Oh, then, my dearest! clasp thine arm about

his neck full fast, And whisper that I blessed him now, and loved

him to the last.

I've heard that little infants converse by smiles

and signs, With the guardian band of angels that round about them shines,

[thou Unseen by grosser senses,—beloved one! dost Smile so upon thy heavenly friends, and com

mune with them now?

Oh! when I think of what I was, and what I

might have been-A bride last year,—and now to die! and I am

scarce nineteen: And just, just opening in my heart a fount of

love so new, So deep ! could that have run to waste? could

that have failed me too!

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THE DYING MOTHER TO HER INFANT.

The bliss it would have been to see my daughter

at my side? My prime of life scarce overblown, and hers in

all its pride! To deck her with my fairest things—with all

I've rich and rare ! To hear it said “ How beautiful! and good as

she is fair;"

And then to place the marriage crown upon that

bright young brow! Oh no! not that—'tis full of thorns; alas I'm

wandering now. This weak, weak head! this foolish heart I they'll

cheat me to the last, I've been a dreamer all my life, and now that

life is past.

And hast thou not one look for me? those little

restless eyes Are wandering, wandering everywhere, the while

thy mother dies :And yet-perhaps thou’rt seeking me, expect

ing me, mine own! Come, Death, and make me to my child at least

in spirit known!

C. BOWLES.

THE PICTURE OF THE DEAD.

SUGGESTED BY AN ANECDOTE IN CATLIN'S TRAVELS.

A CHIEF from his distant forest came,

To the pale one's lonely tent; And he brought such gifts as a prince might

claim, By an Indian monarch sent :And “ Bright may the sun on thy dwelling

shine!” Said the warrior of the wild, “ Stranger, the gifts I bear are thine,

Who hast given me back my child !

“My child, who passed to the spirit-land

In the sunrise of her years :-
I have looked for her in my woodland band,

Till mine eyes grew dim with tears :
But her shadow bright, by thy pencil traced,

Still sweet in my dwelling smiled,
And the hearth she left is not yet a waste,-

Thou hast given me back my child I

“ I laid her low in the place of graves,

Where the ever silent slept;
And summer's grass in its greenness waves

Where an Indian warrior wept;

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THE PICTURE OF THE DEAD.

For bright was our star, that early set,

Till we lost its lustre mild;
But she lives in her changeless beauty yet

Thou hast given me back my child !

“ And say! when our young, who loved her well,

Like the pines, grow old and hoar,
Will her youth still last as their's who dwell

Where the winter comes no more?
When the early love of her breast is low,

Will she smile as she ever smiled!
Oh! safe from the withering hand of woe,

Hast thou given me back my child !

“ 'Tis well with those of thine eastern land,

Though their loved ones may depart,
The magic power of the painter's hand

Restores them to the heart.
Oh! long may the light of their presence stay,

Whose love thy griefs beguiled !
And blessings brighten thy homeward way,
Who hast given me back my child !”

F. BROWN.

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