Forgotten! ’tis the sentence passed on every thing of earth; Naught can escape the heavy doom, that in this world has birth; The cloud that floats in azure skies, the flower that blooms so bright, The leaf that casts a cooling shade, unnoticed pass from sight. --Forgotten! can it be that all, the beautiful, the good, The wise, the great, must buried be, ’neath Lethe’s waveless flood? Must all this world’s magnificence, its splendid pomp and pride, The fanes which man has proudly raised, and Time’s strong arm defied, Oh! must it all return to dust, and from remembrance fade-- Will no faint memory remain, no thought, not e’en a shade? Alas! it must; thus has it been--thus must it be again; Who reared the lofty pyramids? Their work was all in vain! Stricken with awe, we gaze upon those monuments to fame, And ask, but ask unanswered, for the mighty builder’s name! The countless tumuli outspread upon our western lands, Who piled their shapeless forms, and why? Where are the busy hands Which ages since heaped high those mounds? Alas! we ne’er can know; Their names were blotted out from life long centuries ago. And must I be forgotten thus? When earth sees me no more Will all this working world plod on as calmly as before? Will no sweet memory of me cling round some constant heart? Must all remembrance of my life from every soul depart? It must not be! Build me a tomb whose top shall pierce the cloud-- Pile high the marble! set it round with stately columns proud-- Rear me some fane, dig deep the base, outspread it far and wide, And write my name indelibly upon its gleaming side! Down! down! rebellious soul, not thus must thou remembered be-- Not thus a world must ages hence be taught to think of me-- Not thus would I be carried on by Time’s resistless flood; I would not be remembered with the great, but with the good-- If in my heart one virtue live, one pure and holy thought, If in my character one high and noble trait be wrought, If in my life one act be found from earthly blemish free, If one bright impulse point to Heaven, by that remember me! C. E. T. * * * * * =CLARA GREGORY:= =OR THE STEP-MOTHER.= CHAPTER I. “Do, dear Clara, stay at home to-night; father will be so grieved.” “He certainly has shown no great regard for my feelings, and he cannot expect me to be over-tender of his. I am sure I could not endure to stay here, and my marvel is that you can.” Clara Gregory did not observe the tear that glistened in her sister’s eye, as she spoke these words, in a bitter tone; yet her voice was gentler when she spoke again. “Please, Alice, just tie my tippet for me; my hands are gloved. There, thank you.”