where hearts, by poverty o'ercome,
Lay weak and wailing; and to point above,
With words of hope, of comfort, and of love,
Till brighter, happier, grew each cottage home.

And wine and oil fell plenteous from her hand,
To cheer the wounded on life's weary way:
While, for the human wrecks that round her lay,
Her beacon-light beamed o'er the darkling strand.

Her's was a life of Love; then, of deep griefs,
We'll rear a monument unto her name,
More leal and lasting than the chiselled fame
Of mighty monarchs or heroic chiefs.

And see! the virtues of the parent stem
Break forth in blossom o'er the branching tree:
Long may such fair, such bright fruition be,
Of those bereaved their proudest diadem.

With sheltering arms--with hearts for ever green,
By love united, may they still unite;
So shall they gladden still the sainted sight
Of one who is not, but who once has been.

(_a_) Mrs. Carne, relict of the late Rev. R. Nicholl Carne, of Dimlands
Castle, and mother of R. C. N. Carne, Esq., Nash Manor, and of J. W. N.
Carne, Esq., Dimlands and St. Donat's Castles, died November 28th,
1866, at Dimlands, in the 94th year of her age. Deceased could claim a
Royal Welsh lineage, being the 34th in unbroken descent from Ynyr, King
of Gwent and Dyfed. Her long life was distinguished by unostentatious
acts of charity and good works.

ELEGIAC STANZAS

ON THE DEATH OF MRS. PASCOE ST. LEGER GRENFELL,
MAESTEG HOUSE, SWANSEA. DIED JANUARY 8TH, 1868.

This world heroic souls can little spare
That battle bravely with life's every ill:
When days are dark that saintly smiles can wear,
And all around with heavenly glory fill.

This world can little spare the Christian heart
That holds with tearful faith the hand of God
With never-yielding grasp; and takes full part
In works divine on earth's degenerate sod.

This world can little spare the gentle voice
That woos the sinful from the dreamy road
Of human frailties, making hearts rejoice,
Relieving souls of many a bitter load.

This world can little spare the bounteous hand
That Plenty plants where Want oft grew before;
Raising the latchet as with angel-wand,
To cheer the darksome cottage of the poor.

Virtues like these the world can little spare
That fleck life's road like snowdrops in the Spring,
Making it beautiful; and, virtue rare!
Silent and