"Some day I will tell them. It's all clearer to me now. If ever I find the good God, I'll teach Him to my boys out of my own life. They'll not love me less." He did not talk much that day; even to her he could not say that which was in his heart; but it seemed to him there was One who heard and understood,--looking out, after all was quiet that night, into the far depth of the silent sky, and going over his whole wretched life down to that bitterest word of all, as if he had found a hearer more patient, more tender than either wife or child. "Is there any use to try?" he cried. "I was a thief." Then, in the silence, came to him the memory of the old question,-- "Hath no man condemned thee?" He put his hands over his face:-- "No man, Lord!" And the answer came for all time:-- "Neither do I condemn thee. Go, and sin no more." * * * * * MEMORIAE POSITUM R.G.S. 1863. I. Beneath the trees, My life-long friends in this dear spot, Sad now for eyes that see them not, I hear the autumnal breeze Wake the sear leaves to sigh for gladness gone, Whispering hoarse presage of oblivion,-- Hear, restless as the seas, Time's grim feet rustling through the withered grace Of many a spreading realm and strong-stemmed race, Even as my own through these. Why make we moan For loss that doth enrich us yet With upward yearnings of regret? Bleaker than unmossed stone Our lives were but for this immortal gain Of unstilled longing and inspiring pain! As thrills of long-hushed tone Live in the viol, so our souls grow fine With keen vibrations from the touch divine Of noble natures gone. 'T were indiscreet To vex the shy and sacred grief With harsh obtrusions of relief; Yet, Verse, with noiseless feet, Go whisper, "_This_ death hath far choicer ends Than slowly to impearl in hearts of friends; These obsequies 'tis meet Not to seclude in closets of the heart, But, church-like, with wide door-ways, to impart Even to the heedless street." II. Brave, good, and true, I see him stand before me now, And read again on that clear brow, Where victory's signal flew, _How sweet were life!_ Yet, by the mouth firm-set, And look made up for Duty's utmost debt, I could divine he knew That death within the sulphurous hostile lines, In the mere wreck of nobly pitched designs, Plucks heart's-ease, and not rue.