f vanities the Preacher saith--
Idly they gaze upon her empty place,
Her kiss hath faded from her Father's face--
She is with thee, O Death.

EDWARD FITZGERALD.

SONNET.

(SUGGESTED BY MR. WATTS'S PICTURE OF LOVE AND DEATH.)

Yea, Love is strong as life; he casts out fear,
And wrath, and hate, and all our envious foes;
He stands upon the threshold, quick to close
The gate of happiness ere should appear
Death's dreaded presence--ay, but Death draws near,
And large and gray the towering outline grows,
Whose face is veiled and hid; and yet Love knows
Full well, too well, alas! that Death is here.
Death tramples on the roses; Death comes in,
Though Love, with outstretched arms and wings outspread,
Would bar the way--poor Love, whose wings begin
To droop, half-torn as are the roses dead
Already at his feet--but Death must win,
And Love grows faint beneath that ponderous tread!

LADY LINDSAY.

JEUNE FILLE ET JEUNE FLEUR.

The bier descends, the spotless roses too,
The father's tribute in his saddest hour:
O Earth! that bore them both, thou hast thy due,--
The fair young girl and flower.

Give them not back unto a world again,
Where mourning, grief, and agony have power,--
Where winds destroy, and suns malignant reign,--
That fair young girl and flower.

Lightly thou sleepest, young Eliza, now,
Nor fear'st the burning heat, nor chilling shower;
They both have perished in their morning glow,--
The fair young girl and flower.

But he, thy sire, whose furrowed brow is pale,
Bends, lost in sorrow, o'er thy funeral bower,
And Time the old oak's roots doth now assail,
O fair young girl and flower!

From the French of FRANCOIS AUGUSTE, VICOMTE DE CHATEAUBRIAND.

THE DEATH-BED.

We watched her breathing through the night,
Her breathing soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of life
Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seemed to speak,
So slowly moved about,
As we had lent her half our powers
To eke her living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied--
We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came, dim and sad,
And chill with early showers,
Her quiet eyelids closed--she had
Another morn than ours.

THOMAS HOOD.

A DEATH-BED.

Her suffering ended with the day;
Yet lived she at its close,
And breathed the long, long night away,
In st