In the resistless eloquence of woe:--

"Alas! my noble boy! that thou should'st die
Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair!
That death should settle in thy glorious eye,
And leave his stillness in this clustering hair.
How could he mark _thee_ for the silent tomb,
My proud boy, Absalom!

"Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill,
As to my bosom I have tried to press thee;
How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,
Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee,
And hear thy sweet '_my father_' from these dumb
And cold lips, Absalom!

"The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush
Of music, and the voices of the young;
And life will pass me in the mantling blush,
And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung;
But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shall come
To meet me, Absalom!

"And, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart,
Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken,
How will its love for thee, as I depart,
Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!
It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom,
To see thee, Absalom!

"And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up,
With death so like a gentle slumber on thee:--
And thy dark sin!--Oh! I could drink the cup,
If from this woe its bitterness had won thee.
May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home,
My erring Absalom!"

He covered up his face, and bowed himself
A moment on his child: then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer;
And, as a strength were given him of God,
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall
Firmly and decently, and left him there,
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.

THE BOY ARCHER.

SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

The fire and energy of Tell contrasts nobly with the youthful
ambition of his son's young and noble heart. It is a charming
exercise, and exceedingly effective when well delivered:

SCENE.--_Exterior of_ TELL'S _cottage. Enter_ ALBERT (TELL'S _son_)
_with bow and arrows, and_ VERNER.

_Verner._ Ah! Albert! What have you there?

_Albert._ My bow and arrows, Verner.

_Ver._ When will you use them like your father, boy?

_Alb._ Some time, I hope.

_Ver._ You brag! There's not an archer
In all Helvetia can compare with him.

_Alb._ But I'm his son; and when I am a man
I may be like