shall Iran, beloved of her hero, forget thee--
Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start,
Close, close by the side of that hero she'll set thee,
Embalmed in the innermost shrine of her heart.

Farewell!--be it ours to embellish thy pillow
With everything beauteous that grows in the deep;
Each flower of the rock and each gem of the billow
Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep.

Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber
That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept;
With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreathed chamber,
We, Peris of ocean, by moonlight have slept.

We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling,
And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head;
We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian are sparkling,
And gather their gold to strew over thy bed.

Farewell!--farewell!--until pity's sweet fountain
Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave,
They'll weep for the Chieftain who died on that mountain.
They'll weep for the Maiden who sleeps in the wave.

THOMAS MOORE.

SOFTLY WOO AWAY HER BREATH.

Softly woo away her breath,
Gentle death!
Let her leave thee with no strife,
Tender, mournful, murmuring life!
She hath seen her happy day,--
She hath had her bud and blossom;
Now she pales and shrinks away,
Earth, into thy gentle bosom!

She hath done her bidding here,
Angels dear!
Bear her perfect soul above.
Seraph of the skies,--sweet love!
Good she was, and fair in youth;
And her mind was seen to soar.
And her heart was wed to truth:
Take her, then, forevermore,--
Forever--evermore--

BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (_Barry Cornwall._)

SHE DIED IN BEAUTY.

She died in beauty,--like a rose
Blown from its parent stem;
She died in beauty,--like a pearl
Dropped from some diadem.

She died in beauty,--like a lay
Along a moonlit lake;
She died in beauty,--like the song
Of birds amid the brake.

She died in beauty,--like the snow
On flowers dissolved away;
She died in beauty,--like a star
Lost on the brow of day.

She lives in glory,--like night's gems
Set round the silver moon;
She lives in glory,--like the sun
Amid the blue of June.

CHARLES DOYNE SILLERY.

THE DEATH OF MINNEHAHA.

FROM "THE SONG OF HIAWATHA."

All day long roved Hiawatha
In that melancholy forest,
Through the shadows of whose thickets,
In the pleasant days of Summer,
Of that ne'er forgotten Summer.
He had brought his young w