TOP REMEMBER, I remember

The house where I was born, TO The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day; But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light !
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday, —
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing ;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!
I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high ;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky :
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 't is little joy
To know I'm farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.

THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.

FOM WAS in the prime of summer time, SO An evening calm and cool,

And four-and-twenty happy boys Came bounding out of school ;

There were some that ran and some that leapt,

Like troutlets in a pool.

Away they sped with gamesome minds,

And souls untouched by sin ;
To a level mead they came, and there

They drave the wickets in : Pleasantly shone the setting sun · Over the town of Lynn. .

Like sportive deer they coursed about,

And shouted as they ran, --
Turning to mirth all things of earth,

As only boyhood can ;
But the usher sat remote from all,

A melancholy man!

His hat was off, his vest apart,

To catch heaven's blessed breeze ;
For a burning thought was in his brow,

And his bosom ill at ease :
So he leaned his head on his hands, and read

The book between his knees !

Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er,

Nor ever glanced aside, -

For the peace of his soul he read that book

In the golden eventide;
Much study had made him very lean,

And pale, and leaden-eyed.

At last he shut the ponderous tome;

With a fast and fervent grasp
He strained the dusky covers close,

And fixed the brazen hasp :
"O God! could I so close my mind,

And clasp it with a clasp ! ”

Then leaping on his feet upright,

Some moody turns he took, Now up the mead, then down the mead,

And past a shady nook, — And, lo ! he saw a little boy

That pored upon a book !

“My gentle lad, what is 't you read, —

Romance or fairy fable ? Or is it some historic page,

Of kings and crowns unstable ?” The young boy gave an upward glance, — “ It is · The Death of Abel.'”

The usher took six hasty strides,

As smit with sụdden pain, —
Six hasty strides beyond the place,

Then slowly back again ;
And down he sat beside the lad,

And talked with him of Cain ;

And, long since then, of bloody men,

Whose deeds tradition saves ;
Of lonely folk cut off unseen,
· And hid in sudden graves ;
Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn,

And murders done in caves ;

And how the sprites of injured men

Shriek upward from the sod, -
Ay, how the ghostly hand will point

To show the burial clod ;
And unknown facts of guilty acts

Are seen in dreams from God !

He told how murderers walk the earth

Beneath the curse of Cain, — With crimson clouds before their eyes,

And flames about their brain :