If, when our throbbing hearts are still, And pulseless lies the icy hand, Reality should then fulfill Our dreamings of a brighter land, Then may the unfettered spirit’s ear, In some supernal, sinless sphere, Hear some immortal song like this Float through the bowers of Paradise, That bloom serene forever. While wafted home to rest, we dream. By Eden’s clear, ambrosial stream, That clouds o’ershadow never. We part! But O, who would not grieve This world of melody to leave? For round our hearts a witching spell Lingers and whispers low, “Farewell!” Like the low moan of ocean shell. Or midnight chime of distant bell, The torches, dancing to and fro, Cast in long lines their golden glow Over the inky surge’s flow, Like arrows from Apollo’s bow Or Dian’s starry quiver! And like an anthem from the skies, The voice of heavenly music dies Far down the Echo River! THE ANGEL OF THE HOSPITAL. ’Twas night in Richmond’s hospital. The day As though its eyes were dimmed by bloody rain From the red cloud of war, had quenched its light, And in its stead some pale sepulchral lamps Shed their dim rays across the halls of pain, And flaunted mystic shadows on the walls. Ah! woe is me! No ringing cry of “Charge!” Stirs the hot, sulphurous air. The parting groan, The shuddering moan of bitter agony From white lips quivering as they strive in vain To smother mortal pain, appall the ear, And make the warm blood curdle in the heart. Nor flag, nor plume, nor bayonet, nor lance, Nor burnished gun, nor bugle-call, nor drum, Display the pomp of battle; but instead, The surgeon hard at work with lips compressed; The tourniquet, the scalpel, and the lance, The bandage and the splint are scattered round, Dumb symbols telling more than tongue can speak The awful presence of the fiend of war. Lo, there! What gentle form with cautious step Passes from cot to cot as noiselessly As the faint shadows flickering on the wall? She comes to one, a soldier from his youth, Grown gray in arms, pierced through with mortal wounds; Beside his cot she kneels and tells of Him Who wrought redemption on the bitter cross. The veteran hears with smile of gratitude, And, like a frozen fount when it is touched By the sun’s rays, he melts in gushing tears, And, fixing his last look on her and Heaven, Passes away in penitential prayer.