Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my child

hood; Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to

traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces.

Friend of my bosom, thou more than

a brother, Why wert not thou born in my father's

dwelling? So might we talk of the old familiar

faces

How some they have died, and some

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.

I REMEMBER, I remember,
The house where I was born,

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 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heaven

Than when I was a boy.

THOMAS Hood.

OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT.

OFT, in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond Memory brings the light
Of other days around me;

The smiles, the tears,

Of boyhood's years,
The words of love then spoken ;
The
eyes

that shone,
Now dimm'd and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken !
Thus, in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,
Sad Memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

When I remember all

The friends, so link'd together, I've seen around me fall,

Like leaves in wintry weather:

I FEEL LIKE ONE WHO TREADS ALONE SOME BANQUET.HALL DESERTED.

I feel like one,

Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,

Whose lights are fled,

Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed !
Thus, in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,
Sad Memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

THOMAS MOORE.

FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER YOU

WELCOME THE HOUR.

FAREWELL! but whenever you welcome the hour That awakens the night-song of mirth in your

bower, Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too, And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. His griefs may return—not a hope may remain Of the few that have brighten'd his pathway of

painBut he ne'er will forget the short vision that threw Its enchantment around him while lingering with

you!

And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up
To the highest top-sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends! shall be with you that

night