Humanity again asks, "Who are these? And what their sin?"--They fell by _one_ disease! But when they knock'd for entrance at the tomb, Their fathers' bones refused to make them room; Recoiling Nature from their presence fled, As though a thunder-bolt had struck them dead; Their cries pursued her with the thrilling plea, "Give us a little earth for charity!" She linger'd, listen'd; all her bosom yearn'd; The mother's pulse through every vein return'd; Then, as she halted on this hill, she threw Her mantle wide, and loose her tresses flew. "Live!" to the slain she cried: "My children live! This for an heritage to you I give; Had Death consumed you by the common lot Ye, with the multitude, had been forgot; Now through an age of ages ye shall _not_." Thus Nature spake;--and as her echo, I Take up her parable, and prophesy: Here, as from spring to spring the swallows pass, Perennial daisies shall adorn the grass; Here the shrill skylark build her annual nest, And sing in heaven, while you serenely rest; On trembling dewdrops morn's first glance shall shine, Eve's latest beams on this fair bank decline, And oft the rainbow steal through light and gloom, To throw its sudden arch across your tomb; On you the moon her sweetest influence shower, And every planet bless you in its hour. With statelier honours still, in Time's slow round, Shall this sepulchral eminence be crown'd; Where generations long to come shall hail The growth of centuries waving in the gale, A forest landmark, on the mountain's head, Standing betwixt the living and the dead; Nor, while your language lasts, shall travellers cease To say, at sight of your memorial, "Peace!" Your voice of silence answering from the sod, "Whoe'er thou art, prepare to meet thy God!" _Blackwood's Magazine_. * * * * * THE STEAM ENGINE SIMPLIFIED.