LORD CAVENDISH.

Her queenlike beauty, her noble dower

Of wealth or lineage! Shower after shower
Of bitter tears doth Isabel shed,
Weeping in vain o'er the silent dead.

Some may be soothed who thus sadly weep
O'er the lost and loved one's long, cold sleep;
Some again may smile who deeply mourn
O'er life's best gifts from their fond grasp torn;
Not so with the guilty; stern despair

Its furrows, deeper than lines of care,

Can trace on the brow; and vain, oh! vain !
Are the heart's struggles, once more to gain
Calm peace and rest; sad memories spring

From leaf and from flower, and thoughts can bring,
Torturing the soul with the days gone by-

Relentless visions of agony !

Remorse will waken for guilt of yore,

Till life with its joys and griefs be o'er.

ONE POWER alone, to this sorest ill,

E'en to REMORSE, can say, "Peace be still."

LORD CAVENDIS H.

BY THE HON. MRS. NORTON.

'Tis a child's face; but kind and wise
As many a face of riper years;
With thoughtful brow, and earnest eyes,
And such a smile as love endears.

I know thy smile, I know thy glance, Fair boy, although thyself unknown ; "Tis a familiar countenance

Thy picture to my eyes hath shown.

So thou to me, fair stranger-child,
Unknown, unseen, art yet endear'd;
One of the race whose features mild

The good have loved; the bad have fear'd.

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And now, as bright through Memory's glass,

Those gentle shades glide swiftly on Thy fair young mother seems to pass Beyond the picture of her son.

An angel-form that died in youth,
And looketh with untarnish'd eyes,
Full of meek tenderness and truth,
From forth her blissful native skies.

For who shall limit human love?

Oh! lovely dream—if dream it be— That from her happy home above,

She watcheth still thy home and thee!

That, when thou pray'st for help Divine,
To her pure spirit power is given,
To hover so much nearer thine,

As thou, that hour, art nearer heaven!

Young as thou wert, when orphan'd first,
Still may some saintly memory come,

Of gentle hands that fondly nursed,

And eyes that vanish'd from thy home.

So in thy worldly-troublous times

Her half-remember'd voice shall be Like distant sound of church-bell chimes,

On stormy Sabbaths out at sea.