h, as if to administer
a restorative to the dying man. As Clara approached, he stared in
astonishment, but she heeded him not, and exclaiming, "Oh, Charles,
what frightful dream is this!" threw herself on her knees before him.

Life rallied for an instant, and he opened those wild, fearful eyes.
Oh! what a world of wretchedness and despair was in that glance! He
knew her; and conquering, with a convulsive effort, the agony which
was withering up the last drops of life, caught her to his heart,
exclaiming,

"Clara, thou art forgiven! I am _not_ a coward; for I can even die and
leave thee thus. Farewell! be happy!"

* * * * *

All was over. My poor friend had fought his last battle, and his
antagonist and conqueror was Death. That pure and noble spirit, with
all its wild and restless fever-dreams, "sleeps well" amid the
beautiful solitudes of Cypress Grove Cemetery--the _home of the
stranger_--where so many proud and buoyant hearts crumble beneath the
golden air, new filled with odorous dew. And I wait patiently, yet
sadly, for the hour which is to restore me to the friend of my bosom.

THE ANCIENT AND THE MODERN MUSE.

BY LYMAN LONG.

The Muse, in times more ancient, made
The grove's thick gloom her dwelling-place,
And, queen-like, her proud sceptre swayed
O'er a submiss and trembling race.

When stirred her breath the sleeping trees,
Awe-struck, with fearful feet they trod,
And when her voice swelled on the breeze,
Adoring bowed, as to a God!

Her wildly murmured strains they caught,
As echoes from the spirit-world,
Till reeled the brain, to frenzy wrought,
With mixt amaze and rapture whirled!

Thus stern, retired, she swayed the earth,
Till, as new dawned an age of gold,
A happier era led her forth
To dwell with men, like gods of old.

To dwell with us--to roam no more!
_Ours_ is this golden age of bliss!
She comes with blessings rich in store;
And, like a sister, whispers peace.

Not now with awe-inspiring air,
But gentle as the meek-eyed dove,
And clad in smiles that angels wear,
And with an aspect full of love.

She greets us at our fire-sides, when
Sweet looks to accents sweet respond,
And breathing soft her tender strain,
More closely knits the silken bond.

Unmingled joy her smiles afford,
Where meet the mirthful, soc