grave, when, its brief visit over, it had left us for ever, and its fair
face and silken hair lay in darkness amid the clods of the churchyard.
In how short a time had it laid hold of our affections! Two brief years
before, and we knew it not; and now it seemed as if the void which it
left in our hearts the whole world could not fill. We buried it beside
the old chapel of St. Regulus, with the deep rich woods all around, save
where an opening in front commands the distant land and the blue sea;
and where the daisies which it had learned to love, mottled, starlike,
the mossy mounds; and where birds, whose songs its ear had become
skilful enough to distinguish, pour their notes over its little grave.
The following simple but truthful stanzas, which I found among its
mother's papers, seem to have been written in this place--sweetest of
burying grounds--a few weeks after its burial, when a chill and backward
spring, that had scowled upon its lingering illness, broke out at once
into genial summer:--

Thou'rt "awa, awa," from thy mother's side,
And "awa, awa," from thy father's knee;
Thou'rt "awa" from our blessing, our care, our caressing,
But "awa" from our hearts thou'lt never be.

All things, dear child, that were wont to please thee
Are round thee here in beauty bright,--
There's music rare in the cloudless air,
And the earth is teeming with living delight.

Thou'rt "awa, awa," from the bursting spring time,
Tho' o'er thy head its green boughs wave;
The lambs are leaving their little footprints
Upon the turf of thy new-made grave.

And art thou "awa," and "awa" for ever,
That little face,--that tender frame,--
That voice which first, in sweetest accent
Call'd me the mother's thrilling name,

That head of nature's finest moulding,--
Those eyes, the deep night ether's blue
Where sensibility its shadows
Of ever-changing meaning throw?

Thy sweetness, patience under suffering,
All promised us an opening day
Most fair, and told that to subdue thee
Would need but love's most gentle sway.

Ah me! 'twas here I thought to lead thee,
And tell thee what are life and death,
And raise thy serious thought's first waking
To Him who holds our every breath.

And does my selfish heart then grudge thee,
That angels are thy teachers now,--
That glory from thy Saviour's p