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Methinks this dust yet heaves with breath,
Ten thousand pulses beat;
THE RAIN DROP.
HAT if each drop of rain should plead,
So small a drop as I
I'll tarry in the sky ?
What if each little ray at noon
Should in its fountain stay ; Because its feeble light alone
Cannot create a day?
Doth not each rain-drop help to form
The cool refreshing shower; And every ray of light to warm
And beautify the flower ?
THE FALLING LEAF.
EE! the leaves around us falling,
Dry and withered to the ground; Thus to thoughtless mortals calling,
In a sad and solemn found :
“Sons of Adam (once in Eden
Where, like us, ye blighted fell),
Mark the awful truths we tell.
“ Youth, on length of days presuming,
Who the paths of pleasure tread,
Numbered now among the dead.
“ What though yet no losses grieve you,
Gay with health and many a grace ;
Summer gives to autumn place.
“Yearly in our course returning,
Messengers of shortest stay,
Heaven and Earth shall pass away.
“ On the tree of life eternal,
Oh let all our hopes be laid !
THE LAST MAN IN SIR JOHN FRANK
HEY have fallen one by one ;
The last, but one, to-day-
To track this weary way;
My weary way to the River,
I can never attain the sea!
A waif on this desolate shore ;
Cold, Cold, Cold,
Sir John Franklin's Crpedition. 161
In mine ear the terrible rush,
The thundering rush of the floe; And the shriek of her ribs in the grinding crush,
And the good ship in her throe. In mine heart, their mute despair,
And the groans of our wailing knell, As the death-call swooped through the pitiless air,
And the pale men drooped and fell.
Not a knee rose more to the light ;
Cold, Cold, Cold,
Mine eyelids burn; congeals
My brain within its cell ;
From an overflowing well ;
I think of the brave that are gone ;
And stagger from stone to stone. We were two but yesternight,
And, faint, to this welcome fod I've crawled, till he's out of fightAnd there's no one near but God !
Cold, Cold, Cold, And mine hour is nearly told!
When they come, for come they will,
Nor search this coaft in vain,
On its lone unfriendly plain ;
Till the Great Day comes at last;
And the horrors of the Past!
I have prayed with my latest breath;
Cold, Cold, icy Cold,
the lea; The ploughman homeward plods his
weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds.