And burst the shadowy seal that shrouds their doom. Thus shall the past its misty lore unfold, And bid my soul on nature's ladder rise, Till I shall meet some clasping hand, whose hold Shall draw my homesick spirit to the skies. XIX. "Farewell! the thread of sympathy that tied My heart to man is sundered, and I go To hold communion with the shades that glide, Wherever forests wave, or waters flow. And when my fluttering heart shall faint and fail, These limbs shall totter to some hollow cave, Where the poor Dreamer's dream shall cease. The gale Shall gather music from the wood and wave, And pour it in my dying ear; the wing Of busy zephyrs to the flowers shall go, And from them all their sweetest odors bring, To soothe, perchance, their fainting lover's woe. My sinking soul shall catch the dreamy sound Of far-off waters, murmuring to their doom, And eddying winds, from distant mountains bound, Shall come to sing a requiem round my tomb. The breeze shall o'er me weave a leafy shroud, And I shall slumber in the shadowy dell-- Till God shall rend the spirit's darkling cloud, And give it wings of light. Stranger, Farewell!" Good and Evil. [Illustration: The Expulsion from Eden] When man from Paradise was driven, And thorns around his pathway sprung, Sweet Mercy wandering there from heaven Upon those thorns bright roses flung. Aye, and as Justice cursed the ground, She stole behind, unheard, unseen-- And while the curses fell around, She scattered seeds of joy between. And thus, as evils sprung to light, And spread, like weeds, their poisons wide, Fresh healing plants came blooming bright, And stood, to check them, side by side. And now, though Eden blooms afar, And man is exiled from its bowers, Still mercy steals through bolt and bar, And brings away its choicest flowers. The very toil, the thorns of care, That Heaven in wrath for sin imposes, By mercy changed, no curses are-- One brings us rest, the other roses. Thus joy is linked with every woe-- Each cup of ill its pleasure brings; The rose is crushed, but then, you know, The sweeter fragrance from it springs. If justice throw athwart our way, A deepening eve of fear and sorrow, Hope, like the moon, reflects the ray Of the bright sun that shines to-morrow. And mercy gilds with stars the night; Sweet music plays through weeping willows; The blackest cave with gems is bright, And pearls illume the ocean billows. The very grave, though clouds may rise, And shroud it o'er with midnight gloom, Unfolds to faith the deep blue skies, That glorious shine beyond the tomb. The Mountain Stream.