JMISCELLAKEOUS. 77 



Thy dying soul's viaticum ; if oft 



Amid the carnage of the field I've sate 



With thee upon the moonlight throne, and sung 



To cheer the fainting soldier's dying soul, 



With mercy and forgiveness ; visitant 



Of Heaven, sit thou upon my harp, 



And give it feeling, which were else too cold 



For argument so great, for theme so high. 



How dimly on that morn the sun arose, 

 'Kerchief'd in mists, and tearfal, when 



* * * 



" I'M PLEASED, AND YET I'M SAD." 



I. 



When twilight steals along the ground, 

 And all the bells are ringing round, 



One, two, three, four, and five ; 

 I at my study window sit, 

 And wrapt in many a musing fit. 



To bliss am all alive. 



II. 



But though impressions calm and sweet, 

 Thrill round my heart a holy heat, 



And I am inly glad ; 

 The tear-drop stands in either eye, 

 And yet I cannot tell thee wliy, 



I'm pleased, and yet I'm sad. 



III. 

 The silvery rack that flies away, 

 Like mortal life or pleasure's ray, 



Does that disturb my breast ? 

 Nay, what have I, a studious man, 

 To do with life's unstable plan, 



Or pleasure's fading vest ? 



