He sinned-but he paid the price of his guilt "But I hoped that the cottage roof would be A safe retreat for my sons and me; And that while they ripened to manhood fast, They should wean my thoughts from the woes of the past. And my bosom swelled with a mother's pride, As they stood in their beauty and strength by my side, Tall like their sire, with the princely grace Of his stately form, and the bloom of his face. "Oh, what an hour for a mother's heart, When the pitiless ruffians tore us apart! When I clasped their knees and wept and prayed, In their iron arms, while my children died. Is forbid to cover their bones with earth. G 2 "The barley-harvest was nodding white, When my children died on the rocky height, And the reapers were singing on hill and plain, When I came to my task of sorrow and pain. But now the season of rain is nigh, The sun is dim in the thickening sky, And the clouds in sullen darkness rest Where he hides his light at the doors of the west. I shall stay, from my murdered sons to scare THE OLD MAN'S FUNERAL. I saw an aged man upon his bier, His hair was thin and white, and on his brow A record of the cares of many a year;— Cares that were ended and forgotten now. And there was sadness round, and faces bowed, Then rose another hoary man and said, In faltering accents, to that weeping train, "Why mourn ye that our aged friend is dead? Ye are not sad to see the gathered grain, Nor when their mellow fruit the orchards cast, Nor when the yellow woods shake down the ripened mast. “Ye sigh not when the sun, his course fulfilled, And leaves the smile of his departure, spread O'er the warm-coloured heaven and ruddy mountain head. "Why weep ye then for him, who, having won While the soft memory of his virtues, yet, Lingers like twilight hues, when the bright sun is set? "His youth was innocent; his riper age Marked with some act of goodness every day; Cheerful he gave his being up, and went "That life was happy; every day he gave “And I am glad that he has lived thus long, And glad that he has gone to his reward; Nor can I deem that nature did him wrong, Softly to disengage the vital cord. For when his hand grew palsied, and his eye Dark with the mists of age, it was his time to die." THE RIVULET. THIS little rill, that from the springs My little feet, when life was new. List the brown thrasher's vernal hymn, And when the days of boyhood came, And I had grown in love with fame, |