G6 death's doings.

Yet leave me not again to lie

Through untold years of gloom,I would once more behold the sky

And earth's unwasted bloom;Not yet hath hung the chilly air

So murky in my cell,—The heavy darkness seems to glare,

The dreary night-gales swell.

And art thou she—the holy one !

Whose banner o'er the world,Before their destined race was run,

Chiefs, prophets, saints, unfurled ;Art thou the starry form that bowed

Beside the patriot's shield,When, with clos'd lips and bosom proud,

They bore him from the field ?

Thou art not she,—I know thee now!

The glorious dream is past,—There is a fever on my brow,

And life is ebbing fast.Unmoved I bow me to thy power,

Stern friend of human kind !Thou canst not make the spirit cower,

A dungeon could not bind.

H. S.