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النشر الإلكتروني

Full many are the hearts below,
E'en like those drops of rain,
Who part, in morning's early glow,
Never to meet again.

Perchance they fell in one soft shower

From yonder arch of blue,

But may not glad the same bright flower That drinks the evening dew.

In one calm wave they may not glide
To reach the ocean shore:

By storm and tempest severed wide,
They part for evermore.

On a Star,

ABOVE THE SEPULCHRES AT THEBES.

THERE is a lonely star that keeps
Its vigil in the dark blue sky:
The city of the dead there sleeps
Beneath it ever silently.

Oft hath the mourner's wakeful eye
Looked o'er the river flowing deep,

And blessed the gleam in yonder sky
That watched above her loved one's sleep.

Palace and shrine now all o'erthrown,
The fires on hearth and altar cold,
Brave valour quenched, and beauty flown,
It shineth as in days of old.

And thus it saith to us to-day,

When all around is sunk in gloom,

One only star doth lend its ray,—

Bright Faith that shines above the Tomb.

On the Blue Pimpernel,

WHICH GROWS BENEATH THE PYRAMIDS.

THERE is a little blue-eyed flower
Hath made afar her desert bed,

Where Egypt's lonely pyramids tower

Those giant records of the dead.

Her sisters bright in scarlet hue
Are seen afar, where'er we range;
But she hath donned a robe of blue,

Emblem of truth that knows no change.

Ah! little thought those monarchs proud,
Who reared each giant pile on high,
That none should sorrow o'er their shroud
Save Pimpernel, in constancy.

Their empire gone, their power o'erthrown,
Their glories and their sins forgot,
Their ashes on the wild winds strewn,

Their very names remembered not.

Their rifled tombs might not withstand
The ruthless touch of spoiler rude;
But the sweet flower of Egypt's land
In beauty there is still renewed.

And ne'er decayed her root may be,
Nor cease to wave her modest head;
Meek Nature's kind memorial she,

That little mourner o'er the dead.

For ever bright, for ever true,

She wears no more her scarlet dye, But sheds, from eye of tenderest blue, The dewy tears of Egypt's sky.

Oh pass not by, with heedless eye,

The spot where her lone flowerets dwell: Few of earth's children, when they die,

Find friend so true as Pimpernel!

St Rosalie.

HOLY, Sweet St Rosalie,
Dweller by the lonely sea,
In thy silent mountain grot,
Earth forgetting, and forgot:

Holy, sweet St Rosalie,

Would our hearts were like to thee!

Flower of bright Palermo's bower,

Gifted with earth's fairest dower,
Youth, and beauty, honour, wealth,—
Leaving all for thy soul's health :
In the rock thy bed was laid,
Thy palace the lone cavern's shade.

And when thou didst come to die,
Only holy angels nigh,

Kneeling at thy rustic cross,

Oh how base seemed earth's vile dross!

The wreath of roses on thy brow

Shines, an immortal garland now.

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