DIVINA MORS

Mais si rien ne répond dans l'immense étendue
Que le stérile écho de l'éternel désir,

Adieu, déserts où l'âme ouvre une aile éperdue!
Adieu, songe sublime, impossible à saisir !

Et toi, divine Mort, où tout rentre et s'efface,
Accueille tes enfants dans ton sein étoilé ;
Affranchis-nous du temps, du nombre et de l'espace,
Et rends-nous le repos que la vie a troublé.

Sola nel mondo eterna, a cui si volve

Ogni creata cosa,

In te, morte, si posa
Nostra ignuda natura;

Lieta no, ma sicura
Dell' antico dolor.

To die is landing on some silent shore,
Where billows never break, nor tempests roar:
Ere well we feel the friendly stroke, 'tis o'er.
The wise through thought th' insults of death defy,
The fools through bless'd insensibility.

'Tis what the guilty fear, the pious crave;

Sought by the wretch and vanquished by the brave. It eases lovers, sets the captive free,

And, though a tyrant, offers liberty.

Nature

AS a fond mother, when the day is o'er,

Leads by the hand her little child to bed,
Half willing, half reluctant to be led,
And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
Still gazing at them through the open door,
Nor wholly reassured and comforted

By promises of others in their stead,

Which, though more splendid, may not please him more ; So Nature deals with us, and takes away

Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
Leads us to rest so gently, that we go

Scarce knowing if we wished to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand

How far the unknown transcends the what we know.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

The Deserted House

LIFE and Thought have gone away

Side by side,

Leaving door and windows wide:
Careless tenants they!

All within is dark as night:

In the windows is no light;
And no murmur at the door,
So frequent on its hinge before.

Close the door, the shutters close,

Or through the windows we shall see
The nakedness and vacancy

Of the dark deserted house.

Come away: no more of mirth

Is here or merry-making sound.
The house was builded of the earth,
And shall fall again to ground.

Come away: for Life and Thought
Here no longer dwell; ;

But in a city glorious

A great and distant city-have bought

A mansion incorruptible.

Would they could have stayed with us!

ALFRED TENNYSON.

Verses found in his Bible at the Gate-House

at Westminster

VEN such is Time, which takes in trust

EV

Our youth, our joys, our all we have,

And pays us but with earth and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days;

But from this earth, this grave, this dust,
My God will raise me up, I trust.

SIR WALTER Raleigh.

DIVINA MORS

Up-Hill

DOES the road wind up-hill all the way?

Yes, to the very end.

Will the day's journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.

Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labour you shall find the sum.

Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.

CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI.

The City of the Dead

HEY do neither plight nor wed

THEY

In the city of the dead,

In the city where they sleep away the hours;
But they lie, while o'er them range

Winter blight and Summer change,