flowers his own hands had trained, his form was laid in its last repose. The minister was fervent in expressing the piety and the devotion of the old man; and pointing upward to the home of the righteous, said "There the weary are at rest; and there, we confidently trust, is the spirit of the departed, mingling its songs of praise with the loved ones of earth." The Serenade. BY EFFIE ELDON. THE moonbeams are sleeping The bright stars are keeping Their watch, love, o'er thee; Wake, lady, sweet lady! no light can I see The flowers are breathing Their sweets o'er the scene, Like incense up-wreathing From censers unseen; Wake, loved one! Their fragrance and beauty are thine, For thee the flowers blossom, for thee the stars shine. My light barque is gliding Unchecked toward the sea, Fit emblem of me! Oh! lady, fair lady! wilt thou deign to guide The prow of the boat has touched the shore, For, descrying his lady's form afar, The wondering thought, "Why is she here?" But he pauses not the strife to control, Lowly he bent as he reached the place, "Come, fairest and dearest! I wait for thee, Nay, turn not away, beloved one! why- Ah! why are those tears in thy beaming eye?" Rudolph!" she said, and the whisper fell Cold on his heart, "we must say farewell! |