Thou wilt remember me? I know thou wilt: Thou wilt sit here, perchance, where we recline Beneath the shade of vines which I have reared And the sweet flower-scents will go floating by, Blent with all mournful memories of the past. Yet do not weep, but think of me as one Whose heart was like the restless moaning wave, Which frets itself to peace--whose love was all Too deep for bliss on earth, and who above Will watch with anxious ministry thy steps. I have had dreams--bright, holy dreams--dear friend. I would have poured the fulness of these thoughts, Which burn within, upon the breath of song-- Have left my name upon the lips of men As one whose foot had trod within the realm Of mind afar, that when upon the breath Of fame it floated past, thou might'st have said, "She was mine own, most worthy of my love." It was in vain--I die, all unfulfilled The promise of my youth, leaving my name But in thy heart. Lay me to rest in that lone lovely spot Which I have loved, and o'er my grave plant flowers Let not the funereal willow wave above: I would remind thee, by all happy things, Of her thou loved and lovest; and sometimes come To that sweet spot and think of me, for all My kindred's graves are far, and they who loved Me in my early years will see me not. Friend, dearest friend, thy love, thy love alone Is all the sunshine which, unshaded ever, Was thrown upon my path: shall I not bear It all away? and if mine own hath caught From earth a shade of gloom, will it not soar Where all is light? I say not now farewell, But, in that last stern hour, close thou mine eyes, Which smile adieu to earth and thee, and let Me rest in peace. SONNET.--BEAUTY. BY WM. ALEXANDER. Beauty--'tis but a beam, a flickering flame, A flower that withers, whose gay colors die; Such, erst, was Helen's, of historic fame, Such thine, fair lady of the diamond eye. As fades the lily on the water's breast, So fades thy color, shown thee in thy glass; As fade the flowers wherewith thy head is drest, So quick away thy beauty too shall pass. Love, golden-winged, away doth quickly fly, When Time's dark pinions heard are flapping near, And thou, deformed, art left all suddenly, Who, erewhile, wert to thy acquaintance dear. "This skull is Helen's"--beauteous relic this, Of her so famed for form and loveliness. FAIRYLAND. BY LAURA M. COLVIN.