e vow perpetual."

A REQUIEM IN THE NORTH.

BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR.

Speed swifter, Night!--wild Northern Night,
Whose feet the Artic islands know,
When stiffening breakers, sharp and white,
Gird the complaining shores of snow!
Send all thy winds to sweep the wold
And howl in mountain-passes far,
And hang thy banners, red and cold,
Against the shield of every star!

For what have I to do with morn,
Or Summer's glory in the vales--
With the blithe ring of forest-horn,
Or beckoning gleam of snowy sails?
Art _thou_ not gone, in whose blue eye
The fleeting Summer dawned to me?--
Gone, like the echo of a sigh
Beside the loud, resounding sea!

Oh, brief that time of song and flowers,
Which blessed, through thee, the Northern Land!
I pine amid its leafless bowers,
And on the black and lonely strand.
The forest wails the starry bloom,
Which yet shall pave its shadowy floor,
But down my spirits aisles of gloom
Thy love shall blossom nevermore!

And nevermore shall battled pines
Their solemn triumph sound for me,
Nor morning fringe the mountain-lines,
Nor sunset flush the hoary sea;
But Night and Winter fill the sky,
And load with frost the shivering air,
Till every gust that hurries by
Chimes wilder with my own despair.

The leaden twilight, cold and long,
Is slowly settling o'er the wave;
No wandering blast awakes a song
In naked boughs above thy grave.
The frozen air is still and dark;
The numb earth lies in icy rest;
And all is dead, save this one spark
Of burning grief, within my breast.

Life's darkened orb shall wheel no more
To Love's rejoicing summer back:
My spirit walks a wintry shore,
With not a star to light its track.
Speed swifter, Night! thy gloom and frost
Are free to spoil and ravage here;
This last wild requiem for the lost
I pour in thy unheeding ear!

DEATH.

BY GEORGE S. BURLEIGH.

Why mourn the perished glories of the past?
Why wrong with murmurs Death's paternal care?
Sire of immortal Beauty, from his vast
Embrace with Infinite Life, spring all things fair
And good and wonderful: Ye are not cast,
Like wailing orphans, on the desert bare,
To cry and perish. Life comes everywhere

With