THE ROSE—THE MOTHER. 
41 
tears all of agony tliat wetted his young mother’s cheek, as the spirit 
departed from her embrace that had been entrusted to it. Suffer them 
and forbid them not. They see my Father’s face. O Father, blessed 
words. 
Thus, the rustling of an angel’s wings got blended with the other 
echoes,— and they were not wholly of earth, but had in them that breath 
of Heaven. Sighs of the winds, that blew over a little garden tomb, 
were mingled with them also, and both were audible to Lucie, in a hushed 
murmur, like the breathing of a summer sea asleep upon a sandy shore, as 
the little Lucie, comically studious at the task of the morning, or dressing 
a doll at her mother’s footstool, chattered in the tongues of the Two Cities 
that were blended in her life. 
A Tale of Two Cities. 
~T~ OYELY Hose ! the sunlight stays 
On thy blushing face to gaze ; 
Fondly yet the last beam lingers 
Ere it leaves the purple West ; 
Touched by Nature’s rosy fingers, 
Glows the crimson of thy vest. 
Moonbeams thread thy leafy bower, 
Love to light thy sleeping flower; 
Dewdrops on thy peerless brow 
With a gleaming lustre shine; 
Where is crowned head can show 
Diadem as bright as thine ? 
Twilight pale, through darkness breaking, 
Early watches for thy waking; 
Sunbeams on thy breast repose, 
Drink the odour of thy sigh; 
Noon his brightest smile bestows, 
Tints thy cheek with warmer dye. 
Lovely Hose, so fondly cherished, 
Quick we see thy beauty perished; 
Yet thy treasured leaves supply 
Sweet remembrance of thy reign— 
Thus the stores of memory 
Give back days of joy again. 
G 
