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to remove her from town, and place her under the care "Your Highness" counsels have borne good fruits,” of one of the Duke's foresters, who dwelt in the thickest | said Helena, with an arch smile; but seeing the mother part of the wood; and whose humble roof had become pierce through the Duchess' triple armour of pride, sho the magnet that had drawn the Prince thither for the pitied her anxiety, and gently added, “Why distress last few months. She was by many years his senior, yourself by dwelling on the Prince's youthful errors ?— and very experienced, for this was not by any means the time will correct him, and he may yet be all you wish.” first affair of the kind in which her name had been involved; but this the Prince did not credit, and was wholly subjected by her fascinations. What a blow to all the ducal hopes! The Duchess determined, before pursuing this affair farther, to sound the Princess on the subject; trusting to extract from her inexperience more candid admissions on many points than the Duke would be able to draw from his son. She accordingly bent her steps, with a beating heart, towards the Princess' dressing-room.

Helena was in her beloved little retreat in the bay window, but unwilling to admit any one, even the Duchess, to a participation in its secret joys. She stepped forward, and met her on the threshold. The Duchess sat beside the toilet-table, as she had done once before, and motioning Helena to take her place | near her, she began with more show of affection and less pomposity than was her wont :—

"I trust, my dear child, you still bear in mind the advice I gave you, on this very spot, a short time since?"

Helena felt no slight emotion at this exordium, but carefully concealed it under the air of passive attention which she had taught herself to adopt towards the Duchess, as the most likely to put her scrutiny at fault. After her bowed assent, the Duchess resumed :— "I little thought you would so soon be called upon to put it in practice; but I am convinced the storms of wedlock had always best visit us in the first years of marriage, when we have so many means of allaying them, than later, when these means daily decrease."

"I do not understand your Highness," said the Princess, gravely, for reflection and reading had matured the child into the woman, able and ready to parry the direct and indirect attacks made upon her candour. The Duchess had not sought her confidence and love, when her counsels and protection had been most needed. Left to guide her bark alone through all difficulties, Helena would now permit no other hand but her own to seize the rudder.

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"Ay!" said the Duchess, bitterly, "my counsels retorted in mockery upon me! What you say would be sense if you had a fair bevy of sons around you, but as it is, it is worse than mockery!"

"I did not mean it so," replied Helena, soothingly.

"You don't know," continued the Duchess, with increasing warmth, "that whole races, valiant in deeds, illustrious in ancestry, the flower of the Empire, have thus been extinguished in the arms of a paramour!"

"History has some sad records of the kind," put in Helena; "but I have often thought that the principles that can alone shield us against our passions should be instilled early into our breasts, not brought forward for convenience's sake, at the mere moment of need, to be discarded when the danger is over.”

The Duchess was far from being quick enough fully to comprehend Helena's meaning, and, like most people in such cases, preferred following her own peculiar trac of thought to that suggested by another. “Yes,” sk pettishly remarked, "principles, indeed; a fine by would, at the time being, be worth a world of them." Helena shook her head in token of dissent. "You do not believe me?" said the Duchess. "I am afraid I can't agree," replied Helena. “Aeridents can influence some portion of, but cannot regulate, our lives as principles will. The former may be likene to the comets, the latter to the fixed stars of heaver. The appearance and results of the first are doubtfu’. the latter we can always turn to at pleasure.”

An unusual cloud gathered on the Duchess' brow, ani she drew in her lips into their severest expression, as she answered, "You were always so silent at my after-dinner cercle, I never guessed that you were so ready with yɛ thoughts. I dare say my son knew your blue fits better -at least so the result would seem to show.”

Helena coloured crimson under the reproof, for though she felt anything but ashamed at the turn for serious reading that she had taken in the solitude of her chamber, she at the same time felt indignant at having t endure reproach for faults not her own, from those wh had shown her scarce any sympathy, and, glowing with indignation, she was about to commit herself by a hasty reply, when the Duchess, unmindful of her agitaties, continued :

"These things are so painful to tell," said the Duchess, "I could have wished some one had spared me the task; perhaps, however, it is proper that I alone should break such matters to you-who else dare take such a liberty?" "No one," said Helena, with a smile, allows himself liberties here; but, doubtless, madam, you will plainer? kindly explain ?"

"The Prince has a mistress," said the Duchess, in a low, cautious tone, as if watching the effect of her dread announcement. Helena's start was so natural, there could be no doubt of her hearing this piece of news for the first time; but, beyond the blush it called to her cheek, she showed no token of interest; and, as the Duchess continued silent, she merely said

"Well ?"

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"Can I not make myself understood? Must I speak

Is there no chance of such a comet lighting up your conjugal heaven as the birth of a son and heir! Nay, more, there is a very painful question I have t make, but which I have a right to put. Has there ceur been a chance of such a contingency? I have heard, have observed-in short, you must excuse my doubts and relieve my mind."

The Princess reddened this time with a different emotion than her previous one; but she had long since prepared herself for some such an interrogatory, and had her answer ready for any emergency.

"Forgive my not entering into details, which respect for all parties forbid ; but, believe me, madam, I make no doubt your son will one day or other become the head

of a family." This jesuitical reply but half satisfied the yet she was not willing to compromise any portion of her Duchess, who had too many grounds for suspicion thus future freedom, and present peace of mind, for persons lightly to lay them aside. She shook her head doubt-who, according to her peculiar views, had done so little fully, and added, in her most insinuating manner, or what to deserve her interest. Impressed by such considers was meant as such, for the art of persuasion was not|tions, she suddenly stopped short; the Duchess' eager among her gifts, natural or acquired :

"Well, my child, you know best; but you might repose some confidence in my experience. The matter is more serious than you may believe. As long as the Duke lives, the Prince will seek to conceal from all of us an attachment which will grow from the very re- | straints that surround it. Fresh ties will spring up. The day that makes him lord will then become that of your expulsion and my voluntary exile. You," continued the mother, made eloquent by the truthfulness and strength of her feelings, "you know not what is in store for us!"

"For me?" the Princess replied, with hauteur; "I am quite prepared to bear without a murmur, nay, without regret, any termination to my present situation which it may please Heaven and the Prince to decide upon."

"You have never loved him !" exclaimed the Duchess, with bitterness.

"Has he loved me?" the Princess calmly replied. But your vow?"

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The Duchess spoke warmly, because from the very inmost depths of her soul. But this pride of birth, the fountain-head of all her merits, vibrating so loudly in her own bosom, touched no responsive chord in that of Helena. She listened unmoved, unconvinced. The Duchess, for the first time in her life opposed to a nature different to her own, and conscious of the impossibility to control, guide, or force it, felt herself powerless, and had recourse, by instinet, to the only arms of the impotent-prayer. The mother and the woman, for once, triumphed completely over the Duchess. See," she said, with a look and tone strangely at variance with her usual mode of address, "the fate of a whole family is in your hands in this moment, Helena-of an ancient house. I know my son has not shown you love, but have you sought to win it? No! You have withdrawn within yourself. Your voice is sweet; you sing well-at least, so your ladies say—has he ever heard you? Have your eyes ever sought his? Has a blush, a smile, ever betrayed your consciousness of his presence? Have you ever watched him as he rode from the court? listened with pleased attention when he spoke ?"

countenance, as she drank in every word, warning her she had said but too much already. The Duchess, seeing there was no chance of obtaining more at that time, continued with increasing severity

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"It is a wife's duty to use every endeavour to save her husband from evil-to hold out a saving hand. Think, Helena," she continued, in softer accents, as she observed a cold, sarcastic smile gather on the Princess' lip, “if recalled by no spell of conjugal endearment from this sinful and miserable affair-think of all the evils that await him and us. You return to your own country; your contract secures your dowry under every circumstance; the law, perhaps, frees you from hated bonds, and you may become happy elsewhere, under more favourable auspices—ay," she added, with vehemence, "I have read your secret thoughts aright-you dare not deny it."

Helena's eyes sought the ground; she was too honest formally to disavow what was the real state of the case. Such the nature of those day-dreams with which she had taught herself to support patiently the tedium of her enforced sojourn at a place so little congenial. She was startled at her most secret hopes being thus expounded by another; she could not deny, she would not own the truth; in silence, therefore, she took her refuge.

"She

"I have seen through her at last," said the Duchess, with a voice tremulous with passion. could-she might recall my son, and she will not !"

"The Prince," said Helena, soothingly, "may, perchance, one day meet with a consort more suited to his taste than it has been my fortune to be-why not build your hopes on so probable an event ?”

"Because," said the Duchess, "because it will then be too late! No sooner will he be his own master than he will quarrel with the States about this--this woman," she added with contemptuous emphasis-" will insult his officers-dismiss his counsellors-fail in respect to his mother-scorn the discontent of his people, to elevate her and hers to an illusory position-to enrich them with moneys robbed-ay, robbed from the State and his country. Finally, he may be deposed, after a life of misery and strife—or, like many another in the same predicament, forgetful of everything, and chiefly of his name and his honour, he will sell his patrimony to swell the possessions of some mightier Prince, and nothing will remain to him except his shame! Oh! Helena, that I were in my grave ere I see that day!—my son despised-laughed at―duped by a woman !—duped, because there never is there never can be sincerity in such contracts. But," she added, rising in some disorder, "but I am speaking to one who has no ears to hearno eyes to see-no heart to feel for us or our concerns— whose hopes are not our hopes-whose fears are not our fears-who longs for the hour when she may leave a tottering house." Saying this, the Duchess flung her

"Madam!" exclaimed Helena, with an indignant blush, "would you have me lower myself to that extent ?"--but she paused and blushed deeper still; for this was admit-self from the room, leaving Helena breathless at the reting more than she had desired. She felt how strange, in her supposed relation to the Prince, her unfeigned indifference to all that concerned him must seem; and

velations of every kind she had made, and, above all, with the passionate nature of her appeal, whom she had erroneously judged to be callous on all, because callous

on most points. The life spot in that marble being had been touched, and lo! the springs of feeling were open, and down gushed the living waters to the amazement of her who suspected not their hidden existence. She could not but be moved by the mother's sorrow; but was shocked at the profound egotism that referred all things to her son's welfare and happiness, but made no account whatever of her own.

Helena's curiosity being awakened by what had passed, her ladies were shortly after summoned into her presence, and with an indirectness that did credit to her feminine instinct, since of experience she was devoid, she managed to bring the Prince's delinquencies on the tapis. She had, hitherto, so carefully abstained from mentioning him in any way, that this new feature of the case amazed the dowagers; however, as they had long since been dying to relate that about which they were now not only licensed to speak, but actually questioned, soon all they knew, or supposed, was communicated to her, with sundry compassionate, though veiled, personal comments, intended as consolations, at the same time taking malicious notes of her calm unmindfulness of what should have touched her so nearly.

kept up, although it was felt to be but the calm that precedes the storm. Like all such calms, there was something forced in it which made every one aware of its hollowness.

Helena, from this interview with her mother-in-law, felt a change growing upon herself, for which she was in some respects able, and in some others unable, so account. Thus, now the Duchess had herself torn away the veil from before the Princess' sentiments and intentions, she felt relieved, like one who throws away a tiresome disguise. Her position, with regard to the court, was now defined—her presence there clearly understood to be but conditional and temporary-she no longer felt, as it were, one of the family, and was, therefore, all the more inclined to maintain the dignity of her own; esidering herself at liberty to follow the bent of her own inclinations, and by no means bound to a slavish obser· vance of those of others.

From that day forth, therefore, she appeared less frequently in the Duchess' cercle, and spent more of the evening hours in her own apartment. She visited the riding-school of the palace, and even ventured beytai its precincts, with few attendants, and these of her own The whole of the Court, and the town itself, was selecting; and, above all, entertained a very active coragitated that day, by the scene said to have taken place respondence with her own distant friends, taking gre at the palace. It was affirmed at the former, that care to whom her letters were entrusted. On the other Serenissima had been seen to leave the Princess' cham- hand, she invariably, and formally, though genth, ber with unsteady steps, flushed cheeks, and dim eyes, refused the many petitions with which her path wa hurrying to her own apartment, in which she had shut waylaid, though her heart often bled at the sight herself up for hours. This, coupled with the young veterans who were discarded, pensionless, from service, Princess' sudden and most unusual interest in the under pretence of a reduction in the army, but merely Prince's movements, and the subsequent event-for such on account of their age and growing infirmities; or d trifles are events to those who lead a dull, trifling exist- young men whom want of figure and address, or ances ence of the Princess absenting herself from the Court try, debarred from all chance of bettering their fortunes, cercle that afternoon, and, under pretence of indisposi- when mothers and sisters depended on them for support. tion, keeping altogether to her own apartment for some But she felt how little right her real position and secret days after the interview-all these were facts which, resolves gave her to interfere in any matters concerning when compared and united, showed that a discussion of the Court of Imminghausen; and though pained at the some sort had arisen between the ladies. That the harsh inferences which the afflicted would be sure to Prince's amours had been the subject of it, and that the draw from the conduct of her in whom they fancied they Princess resented her mother-in-law's interference, was beheld their future Landesmutter-though aware the the general impression about the affair and universal Duke would hardly refuse anything to so great a favesregret was felt and expressed that the choice of the rite as she had become with him-she scrupulously adducal family had fallen on a Princess so tame and spirit-hered to what she considered a point of propriety in her less, although, in other respects, Helena was allowed to own behaviour. be unexceptionable.

In the town, however-especially among those who cannot be supposed to know how such things are managed by the great it was bruited about that the Duchess had had a violent quarrel with the Princess, her daughterin-law-had bestowed on her some very disagreeable epithets; and, being of a very hasty temper, had allowed herself such latitudes that she left the room with dishevelled hair and disordered attire, and the Princess had been unable to leave her chamber ever since. A grave shake of the head and a sigh closed such remarks, and all parties were blamed as a matter of course.

The Duke alone was left in ignorance of what was passing around him; for, dreading to irritate her son, and drive him to a still more decided course by too strong an opposition, the Duchess had not only been silent herself, but imposed silence on others; and a salutary fear of offending the future sovereign had tied tongues even more than compliance with her wishes; so that, for a time at least, a show of domestic peace was

But whilst thus anxious to preserve her own independence in the present and the future—whilst prepar ing at the very first opportunity to slip the yoke that still lay on her-her thoughts, which, from the first and only interview she had with the Prince, had never again reverted to him, or only in a fugitive and careless way, now turned more frequently towards him. The first fruits of the Duchess' appeal had been awakened curis sity-the next was an impulse of feminine vanity. The Duchess had thought she could, if she would, compete with one who had been described to her as eminently beautiful, though by many years Prince Henry's senior. She, for the first time, interrogated her glass with womanly feelings, and the image it reflected was such as to call forth a well-pleased smile. In fact she was greatly changed since she beheld herself in her bridal wreath and veil, so awkward and unformed. She thought her tall, slender figure graceful in its outline, and her features, she knew enough of drawing to know, were correct; but there was a want of strength of ex

whole household, and the public in general, kept up the same everlasting discussions about the strangeness of the young people's behaviour to each other. The courtiers wondered how the Prince had come by his fiery temperament—his passionate and impassioned disposition. Serenissimo, said they, was so very serene. Serenissimo's mind had ever been like a sheet of ice; it had no light or shade, no depth or height; it was one frigid surface. She was regulated like a piece of Dutch clock-work; still they traced the Prince's vivacity wholly to her; inasmuch as the courtiers observed she had always shown herself impressionable to music, especially to the clash of trumpets and the roll of drums, to which she never failed to beat time with her head and fan. Now, music was known to act on the nerves, and was likely to have an unfavourable influence upon unborn princes. The Duchess had never presented a snuff-box, ornamented with real diamonds, but to a fiddler. The whole body of courtiers resented the fact to that very day, and maintained that this inordinate passion for music was the sole origin and cause of the future sovereign's evincing a temper so unlike that of his august parents.

pression, if one may so term it, which she determined to correct by bestowing more attention on her outward graces than she had hitherto done. She resolved on devoting some portion of her time to riding and dancing, to pay more attention to her toilet, that, at any rate, the Prince should become aware that it was a graceful woman whom he was about to lose, and not a mere child. Thus argued vanity. Then reason whispered, what signified the opinions of a person so very indifferent to her? Then came the natural reflection that, after all, so long as the law had not dissolved the bonds that bound them, they had a right in each other-that all addressed her as though she exerted that right over the Prince's heart and opinions. After all, she was his wife. It was, indeed, dream-like; but so it was. Though she had not exchanged a thought with him since their marriage, still they were married. This idea took strong possession of her mind, struggle as she would against it. Then, again, if she could be sure of success, it would be very cruel to refuse compliance with the Duchess' desires of attempting to save the Prince from his headlong career of passion and folly. But Helena's womanly pride rose up in arms, and warned her of the impossibility, in her peculiar position, of making the The Princess' daily improvement in look, manners, slightest advances. Still the Duchess' advice rang in and dress, her evident love for and grace in the dance, her ears, and had some, though most secret, results-her artless yet growing consciousness of her increasing secret even to herself. Thus she often now watched the Prince from behind the closely-drawn curtains, as he mounted his fiery charge, managing him with a grace and skill she could not but admire; but so guarded her movements on such occasions, no keen observer, far less one so preoccupied as the Prince, could have detected her. If, perchance, meals brought them together, which, from the increasing frequency of her husband's absence from home, and hers from the family-table, was not very often, even whilst assuming an absorbed look, she attentively listened when he spoke, and was surprised to mark how little his mind corresponded with that of his parents. She could not but notice his manly bearing, his decision of character, his good looks and youthful fire ---qualities she had until then either denied him altogether, or overlooked from sheer inattention. She felt, too, that his conduct towards her had not been devoid of generosity he had not stooped to deceive-and had respected her just resolutions. She began to think well, and, what was more, to think much of him; though she permitted no one to become aware of the fact. And whilst she was thus rapidly improving her opinion of her husband's merits, all who approached her fancied she had discarded him altogether from her thoughts. She often sat in the recess of her favourite window, in her rose-disposal. Besides, he dreaded the eclat that would unbroidered boudoir, gazing with curious eyes on the distant landscape; and her looks more especially sought to pierce the darkness of the wood, whither she would attempt to trace the hurrying figure of her lord, and ask herself if it would not be a sweet thing to be thus beloved in the silent shades of the evergreen forest, far from the trammels of etiquette; and then torture her imagination to conjure up the countenance of the Prince, animated and softened by tenderness-that countenance which she never beheld but clouded with discontent.

The winter passed heavily for all in the palace except herself. Busy with the accomplishments she was desirous of acquiring, and still more with her vivid fancies, time did not hang on her hands. The

charms, became the subject of general remark. But these newly-budding perfections sprang up unheeded in the Prince's path, as do the field flowers beneath the tread of some careless passer-by, who neither notices their fragrance nor their bloom; and the child was fast disappearing, and making way for the beautiful and thoughtful woman, without his becoming aware, so blind is prejudice, of any, even the slightest change. Thus sped the winter, and the leaves were budding forth again, the more gratefully to all beholders that the German winter lasts so long and returns so soon, that its short absence is a tenfold relief; the songsters of the wood again made the air joyous with their notes of welcome; still all remained as before, and the days passed away in their wonted monotony.

The Prince alone had matured a great idea. She whom he loved should not, he had long since determined, dwell any more in a hut, as much beneath her deserts as unworthy of his gallantry. He had held long consultations with his trusty friend and aid-de-camp on this subject, but yet, to brave the Duke, his father, openly, he dare not, and to build some secret bower of love such as he had often dreamed of, was an undertaking that required more money than he had at his

avoidably attend so great an enterprise. But in his constant beat through the forest, chance at last threw what he sought in his way.

The forest, divided and subdivided by many names, skirted and wound round the chain of mountains that partly bounded, and partly belonged to, the Duke's territory; now clothing their sides, now covering their summits, now spreading far across the plain for miles upon miles of country, now receding into dark ́mysterious dells, now invading the silent depths of precipices. The dark mass had once extended, as a garb of pride, over the whole land, and was but slowly and partially yielding to the power of civilization, and the increas ng wants of an increasing population. These forests,

guarded by most severe game regulations, and troops | noiselessly and swiftly, unchecked by any more formidof foresters to enforce them, were a chief source of able obstruction than a chance pebble. On either hand amusement to their royal, or electoral, or ducal, or even extended a wide margin of short velvety grass, on which, less exalted possessors. Whether lay or clerical, all lying in the shade of the antique trees, were often seen, took the same unlimited pleasure in the chase; and especially towards evening, when the lengthening shawhen one considers the loveliness of the forest scenery dows were cast across the mossy road, and all was hushed of Germany, here mountain bound and wild, there ren- but the rustle of the leaves, or the crash of their own dered sweet and smiling by lonely lakes concealed bounding kind through the brushwood, herds of wild within its secret folds, like some fairy held in leafy deer; and when warned by approaching sounds of the prison, with ever and anon some break opening on a presence of man or beast, they would spring back to vast expanse of field, so suddenly revealed as to charm their leafy retreat, just far enough among the underthe more, in a land so rich in Nature's choicest beauties, wood to conceal part of their forms, but part only. the Nimrod taste of the inhabitants has at least an Here and there a snow-white hart, with head proudy apology which in less-favoured countries it often wants. thrown back, swelling throat, and many branching antlers; a little farther, a timid doe, with soft eyes and delicate limbs, might be seen watching the intruder from behind a treacherous bush that concealed them not from view. The sweet exudations of the firs, the breathing stillness all around, made this place a paradise, and thither the Prince often wandered with his train. (To be continued.)

At a considerable distance from the town the trees assumed more majesty of bulk and height, and grew at greater distances from each other, until they formed into a long, large avenue, that seemed to be the undisturbed growth of centuries. It run on for miles up a smooth, soft, turf road, along which the wheels revolved

THE STUDENT.

BY E. M. FORDHAM.

"Could we but reckon the number of young lives annually injured or destroyed by the overstraining of their mental powers, our readers would scarcely believe us; but certain it is that the midnight lamp could, if it had a tongue, unfold' many a fearful tale' of the destruction of life and energy, and decay of health, that it has witnessed."-From an old Newspaper.

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Gleaming with a sickly light,

Through each long hour of midnight,
The Student's lonely lamp was seen;
Though night so perfectly serene,
And sky so deeply blue and fair,

Were watching o'er that thoughtful one,
Their loveliness might well have won
His spirit from all thoughts of care.
And, oh! of all that God hath given
Of quiet rest, and tearless hours,
To cheer this toilsome life of ours,
There's nothing that can ever bring
Peace to the weary heart and brain,
And change its look of suffering
To one as calm and soft again
As moonlight on a summer deep,
Like that one gift of tranquil sleep.
Yet, still, as midnight passed away,
And starlight faded from the sky,
The Student, by his lamp's dim ray,
Sat reading with unwearied eye.

And the calm moon seemed looking down
Through the soft curls of lightest brown
That shaded that pale countenance,
With a half wondering, pitying glance.
Alas! though health and life might now
Shine on that young and thoughtful brow,
Its spirit yet may be o'ercast,

The avenging shadow fall at last.

*

*

Years, since that brilliant moonlight night, had flown,
And day-light's last and melancholy smile,
Through casement frames of grey and crumbling stone,
Lit a cathedral's dim and solemn aisle.
So sadly, too, and mournfully upon
Pillar and arch, and architrave, it shone,
It almost seemed as if its light had caught
A tinge of human care, of grief and thought,
From the deep voice of death and of decay
That through dim, echoing roofs, and cloisters grey,
Poured its full, heavy tones, at measured times;
Sounding among the very chambers, where,
Forgetting all their sorrows, hopes and crimes,
Reckless alike of human weal or care,
Each in his last and lightless home enclosed,
The dead, the pale, unheeding dead reposed.

O'er the dense forests, too, its sound was borne,
And the brown leaves of autumn seemed to mourn,
And the seared flowers in the copsewood curled
And shivered, as its sullen tones went by.

O! it is sad to gaze upon the world,
And feel its brightest things may droop and die ;
To know a bright, blue sky is o'er us bending,
And glorious sunlight on the earth is shed,
Ever while the deep and solemn knell is sending
Through the clear air a tolling for the dead!

The dew fell heavily, when sunset's smile
Passed from each grave-stone and its grassy mound;
And round the proud cathedral's dusky pile
The wind was whistling with a dreary sound.
And through the vaults of death, so dark and damp,
It came and went, unfelt, unheard by all,
Even where, enfolded in his sable pall,
Lay the young Student of the midnight lamp.
Glory upon his pathway had been shed,

The wreath of fame had bound that graceful head;
Yet, though it might be called a splendid doom
To go thus honoured to his early tomb,
It still was grief to feel the frail links sever
That bound him to a life, even tried as his ;
Alas! it still was grief to leave for ever
That little he had known of human bliss.

All in his pale and ghastly vestments clad,
With those whose hearts were pulseless as his own,
His look, if sad, was still so gently sad;
And on his brow so little change was shown,
His rest, as yet, was marked with scarcely less
Than sleep's own look of peace and loveliness,
Yet, if that eye could raise its heavy lid,
To look back on the loved spot of its birth,
And if that mind could feel, as once it did,
A kindred spirit of the quitted earth;
Even if in his short sojourn he had felt
Deeply his share of human suffering,
Still yearningly the Student's heart would cling
To those dear earthly homes where he had dwelt,
And sigh to cheer the anguish and despair
Of those whom he had left to mourn him there,
Until they, too, the weary path had trod,
That leads us to our resting-place, and God.

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