heedless of the bliss they bring.

But if the world should weep, how must they mourn
For whom her goodness bloomed a thousand-fold
More sweet in tender love? E'en as the dawn
Crowns all it looks on with a fringe of gold.

So did affection gird in rosy might
The home which by her presence was adorned,
Where came an aching void: for lo! their light
Was quencht by death and in the tomb in-urned.

Not quencht. Ah, no! For Heaven's eternal gates
Flew open, and in robes which angels wear
Her sainted spirit entered; and it waits
For those that were beloved to join it there.

IN DREAMS.

I.

When they carried away my darling
To a kingdom beyond the sky,
I knew what the angels intended,
So I stifled the tear and the sigh,
But I prayed she might send me a message
Of love from the realms of the blest,
As to me a whole life of repining
Was the cost of her Heaven of rest.

II.

Yes: I prayed she might send me a message;
One word from her mansion of bliss;
One ray from her features angelic:
From her sweet lips the saintliest kiss;
And I question the wind, as it wanders
As though from the regions above,
But it whispers in sadness, and brings me
From the absent no message of love.

III.

At night I grow weary with watching
The stars, as I sadly surmise
Which of all those bright jewels resplendent
Borrow light from my lost one's eyes:
Then I sleep--and a vision approaches;
And again all my own she would seem:
But on waking my Love has departed,
And my heart aches to find it a dream.

IV.

Oh, I prayed she might send me a message;
But nought the sweet missive will bring:
The breath of the morning, the sunlight,
The carol of birds on the wing,
Come to gladden my heart with their gladness;
But joyless and tuneless each seems;
And the only sad joy that is left me
Is to live with my dearest in dreams.

"MEWN COF ANWYL." (_a_)

The above words, wrought in imperishable flowers, were placed on the
coffin of the late Mr. John Johnes, of Dolaucothy, at the time of his
interment at Cayo, by his youngest daughter, to whom the following
elegiac stanzas are respectfully inscribed.

I.

"Mewn cof anwyl."
So sings the lorn and lonely nightingale,
Sighing in sombre thicket all day long,
Weaving its throbbing heartstrings into song
Fo