And two months after that I saw them wed, My Haydn and Doretta, in the church. And, since then, I have pray’d for him long days, And longer nights; and I have oft had hopes That my faint life new strength would gain from God. But now so white, so thin, my body seems, With scarce enough of substance left in it To be a ghost;—ah, what if, like a ghost, It soon should vanish? So I thought, to-night, If I could tell you this, confess my fault, Unload my heart of all her sweet, sad love, That God might give me rest. I did not, nay, I did not mean it, to excite myself. They told me it might bring my death; but oh! Have I not borne enough to merit life? How had I counted all these weeks and days, Up to the hour we two should meet again, And I should find how all my prayers were heard, And heaven had made my Haydn blest!— He came, Last week: and what, what, think you, can it mean?— He brought the wilted stems.— I do not know. I only know that I can earn no rest: And all our household so much else have earn’d. And now how can I?—I can try no more; But all my pathway has been block’d for me. They say such words are infidelity,— O Christ!—yet I can try no more. Hark! hark!— Is not that Haydn’s hymn we hear again?— How faint it sounds!—or I, I faint may be. The window—move me. There—look out—those clouds— The sunset?—Ah, what comes on earth so bright, So beautiful as clouds?—There were no clouds Where one could always look and see the heaven. The music, hear it—hear how sweet!—Say, say, Did I sing then?—Not so?—and only dream’d?— I thought that music mine, and then myself; And Haydn’s heart, it beat here, beat in me,— Ah me, so tired!—Yes, let me rest on you. O God, for but one hour to live!—For what? Have I not loved then?—Yes, and tell him so, Tell Haydn; thank him.—God, praise Him for it. Life, life—I did not know it—has been sweet.— Hark! music!—Does it not come from above? SKETCHES IN SONG. _Third Edition, Revised._ SKETCHES IN SONG. A FISH STORY FOR THE LITTLE CRITICS. A strange fish came from an inland home On a journey down to the sea. He split the ripples, and ript the foam, And danced and dived in glee. “Ho, ho!” cried the fry where the sea grew near, “Hurrah for a fresh-water fool! One gulp of our salt when he comes out here Will send him back to his pool.”