SECOND SIGHT.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

Ne'er erred the prophet heart that grief inspired, Though joy's illusions mock their votarist.

MATURIN.

I.

A mournful gift is mine, O friends!
A mournful gift is mine!

A murmur of the soul, which blends

With the flow of song and wine.

II.

An eye, that through the triumph's hour
Beholds the coming woe,

And dwells upon the faded flower,

Midst the rich summer's glow.

III.

Ye smile to view fair faces bloom
Where the father's board is spread;

I see the stillness and the gloom

Of a home whence all are fled.

IV.

I see the withered garlands lie

Forsaken on the earth,

While the lamps yet burn, and the dancers fly
Through the ringing hall of mirth.

V.

I see the blood-red future stain

On the warrior's gorgeous crest, And the bier amidst the bridal train, When they come with roses drest.

VI.

I hear the still small moan of Time,

Through the ivy-branches made, Where the palace, in its glory's prime, With the sunshine stands arrayed.

The thunder of the seas I hear,

The shriek along the wave,

When the bark sweeps forth, and song and cheer

Salute the parting brave.

VIII.

With every breeze a spirit sends

To me some warning sign ;

A mournful gift is mine, O friends!
A mournful gift is mine!

IX.

Oh! prophet heart! thy grief, thy power

To all deep souls belong;

The shadow in the sunny hour,

The wail in the mirthful song.

X.

This sight is all too sadly clear

For them a veil is riven;

Their piercing thoughts repose not here,
Their home is but in heaven!

SONG.

I.

LILY! the smile that lit thy brow
First won each feeling warm and deep;
But I could ne'er have loved as now,
Had I not seen thee weep.

II.

And if the vow you plighted when
Those tears were falling, be not kept,
I'll ne'er believe in tears again—

Although an angel wept.

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.

BY THE AUTHOR OF

SOLITARY HOURS.'

I.

How happily, how happily the flowers die away!
Oh, could we but return to earth as easily as they !
Just live a life of sunshine, of innocence and bloom,
Then drop without decrepitude, or pain, into the tomb!

The gay

II.

and glorious creatures! they neither "toil nor spin ;"

Yet, lo! what goodly raiment they're all apparelled

in;

No tears are on their beauty, but dewy gems more

bright

Than ever brow of eastern queen endiademed with

light.

III.

The young rejoicing creatures! their pleasures never

pall;

Nor lose in sweet contentment, because so free to all!The dew, the showers, the sunshine, the balmy, blessed

air,

Spend nothing of their freshness, though all may freely

share.

IV.

The happy careless creatures! of time they take no

heed;

Nor weary of his creeping, nor tremble at his speed;
Nor sigh with sick impatience, and wish the light away;
Nor when 'tis gone, cry dolefully, "would God that it
were day!"

V.

And when their lives are over, they drop away to rest, Unconscious of the penal doom, on holy Nature's

breast;

No pain have they in dying—no shrinking from decay —Oh! could we but return to earth as easily as they!