But in the still and ghostly midnight hour, From each intruding eye and ear set free, I still may shed the bitter, hopeless tear, Nor fear the babbling of the earless walls. I to myself may say, "I die! I die! Elizabeth, unfriended and alone, So die as thou hast lived,--alone, but queenlike!" HYMN WRITTEN FOR A SUNDAY SCHOOL. "And his mother said unto him, Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us? Behold, thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing. "And he said unto them, How is it that ye sought me? Wist ye not that I must be about my Father's business? "--_Luke_ ii. 48, 49 I. Thus early was Christ's course begun, Thus radiant dawned celestial day; And those who such a race would run, As early should be on the way. II. His Father's business was his care, Yet in man's favor still he grew: O, might we learn, by thought and prayer, Like him a work of love to do! III. Wisdom and virtue still he sought, Nor ignorant nor vile despised: True was each action, pure each thought, And each pure hope he realized. IV. The empires of this world, in vain, Offered their sceptres to his hand; Fearless he trod the stormy main, Fearless 'mid throngs of foes could stand. V. Yet with his courage and his power Combined such sweetness and such love, He could revere the simplest flower, The vilest sinners firm reprove. VI. For all mankind he came, nor yet An infant's visit would deny; Nor friend nor mother did forget In his last hour of agony. VII. O, children, ask him to impart That spirit clear and temper mild, Which made the mother in her heart Keep all the sayings of her child. VIII. Bless him who said, of such as you His Father's kingdom is, and still, His yoke to bear, his work to do, Study his life to learn his will. DESERTION. TRANSLATION OF ONE OF GARCILASO'S ECLOGUES. With my lamenting touched, the lofty trees Incline their graceful heads without a breeze; The listening birds forego their joyous song, For soft and mournful strains, which echoes faint prolong. Lions and bears resign the charms of sleep To hear my lonely plaint, and see me weep; At my approaching death e'en stones relent. Yet though yourself the fatal cause you know, Not once on me those lovely eyes are bent: Flow freely, tears! 'tis meet that you should flow!