that clime prepare,
And sweetly whispers, "He is there."

1828. E. P. K.

ON A PACKET OF LETTERS.

"To-day"--Oh! not to-day shall sound
Thy mild and gentle voice;
Nor yet "to-morrow" will it bid
My heart rejoice.

But one, one fondly treasured thing
Is left me 'mid decay,
This record, hallowed with thy thoughts
Of yesterday.

Chaste thoughts and holy, such as still
To purest hearts are given,
Breathing of Earth, yet wafting high
The soul to Heaven;

Soaring beyond the bounds of Time,
Beyond the blight of Death,
To worlds where "parting is no more,"
"Nor Life a breath."

'Tis true they whisper mournfully
Of buds too bright to bloom,
Of hopes that blossomed but to die
Around the tomb.

Still they are sweet remembrances
Of life's unclouded day--
Sketches of mind, which death alone
Can wrench away;

Memorials sad of by-past hours,
Gone with the silent dead;
Pictured affections, pencilled dreams.
Forever fled!

Forever? Are they hushed indeed
To wake again no more?
Ties dearer far than Life itself
With life all o'er?

No! Faith can point to holier climes,
And bid the soul prepare
For deathless union that awaits
The faithful there.

1828. E. P. K.

REPLY OF THE MESSENGER BIRD.

Thou art come from the spirits' land, thou bird!
Thou art come from the spirits' land:
Through the dark pine grove let thy voice be heard,
And tell of the shadowy band!

* * * * *

But tell us, thou bird of the solemn strain,
Can those who have loved, forget?
We call--and they answer not again--
Do they love, do they love us yet?

F. HEMANS.

Yes! yes, I have come from the spirits' land,
From the land that is bright and fair,
I come with a voice from the shadowy band,
To tell that they love you there!

To say, if a wish or a fond regret
Could live in Elysian bowers,
'Twould be for the friends they could ne'er forget,
The loved of their youthful hours;

To whisper the dear deserted band,
Who s