s for the quiet of the tomb's deep rest,--
Love's sepulchre lay cold within her breast,
Could peace dwell there?

A tale soon told,
Is of her life the story; she had loved,
And he who won her heart to love, had proved
Heartless and cold.

Lay her to rest,
Where shines and falls the summer's sun and dew;
For these should shine and fall where lies so true
And fond a breast!

A full release
From every pang is given to the dead,--
So on the stone ye place above her head,
Write only "Peace."*

When Spring comes back,
With music on her lips,--joy in her eye,--
Her sunny banner streaming through the sky,--
Flow'rs in her track--

Then come ye here,
And musing from the busy world apart,
Drop on the turf that wraps her mouldering heart,
Sweet Pity's tear.

* The most touchingly beautiful epitaph I have ever read, was written in
that one word, "Peace." It seemed like the last sigh of a departing
spirit, over the clay which it was about to abandon for ever.

LOVE AND FANCY.

"Whenever, amid bow'rs of myrtle,
Love, summer-tressed and vernal-eyed,
At morn or eve is seen to wander,
A dark-haired girl is at his side."
De La Hogue.

One morn, just as day in the far east was breaking,
Young Love, who all night had been roving about,
A charming siesta was quietly taking,
His strength, by his rambles, completely worn out.

Round his brow a wreath, woven of every flower
That springs from the hillside, or valley, was bound;
In his hand was a rose he had stol'n from some bower,
While his bow and his quiver lay near on the ground.

Wild Fancy just came from her kingdom of dreams,
The breath of the opening day to enjoy,
And to catch the warm kiss of its first golden beams
On her cheek, caught a glimpse of the slumbering boy!

With a light, noiseless step she drew near to the sleeper,
And gazed till her snowy-breast heaved a soft sigh;
Then she bade sleep's dull god bring a sounder and deeper
And heavier trance for Love's beautiful eye.

Then back to her shadowy kingdom she flow,
And called up the bright mystic forms