rd through the clay,
In the God's-acre far away,
Where she, O God! lies cold below,--
Cold, cold below!

Those eyes so full of light are dim;
And the clear chalice of her youth,
All sparkling up with love and truth,
Hath Death drain'd keenly from the brim;--
No more can mortal ear rejoice
In the soft music of her voice;
No wistful eye, through tears of woe,
Can pierce down through the heavy clay,
In the God's-acre far away,
Where she, O God! lies cold below,--
Cold, cold below.

A star shines, sudden, from the sky--
God's angel cometh, pure and bright,
Making a radiance through the night,
Unto the place where, mute, I lie,
Gazing up in rapt devotion,
Shaken by a deep emotion;
And my thoughts no longer go
Wandering o'er the plashy clay,
In the God's-acre far away,
Where she, O God! _lay_ cold below--
Cold, cold below!

God's angel! ah I divinely bright!
But still the olden grace is there--
The soft brown eyes--the raven hair--
The gentle smile of calm delight,
That could such peace and joy impart--
The veil is rent from off my heart,
And gazing upward, well I know
The rain may beat upon the clay
In the God's-acre far away;
But she no longer lies below,
Enshrouded by the frost and snow--
Cold, cold below!

BEATRICE DI TENDA.

1.

It was too sweet--such dreams do ever fade
When Sorrow shakes the sleeper from his rest--
Life still to me hath been a masquerade,
Woe in Mirth's wildest, gayest mantle drest,
With the heart hidden--but the face display'd.

But now the vizard droppeth, crush'd and torn,
And there is nought left but some tinsell'd rags,
To mock the wearer in the face of morn,
As through the gaping world she feebly drags
Her day-born measure of reproach and scorn.

But that _his_ hand should pluck the dream away--
And thus--and thus--O Heaven! it strikes too deep!
The knife that wounds me, if not meant to slay,
Stumbles upon my heart the while I weep:
So be it; no hand of mine its course shall stay.

False? false to him? Release me--let me go
Before Heaven's judgment-seat to make appeal;
Unfold the records of this life, and show
All that the secret pages can reveal,
That Heaven and Earth the inmost truth may know!

He cannot think it in his heart of hearts;
He cannot wear this falsehood in his soul,
Or deem me perjur'd; no delusive arts
Can make