POETRY.
THE PLAINT OF MOSCHUS.
WOE! woe ! See yon the mallows a-dying around in the meadows :- See yon the fresh green parsley, and dill so curling and bosky :— Live will they all once more, and will sprout in the new-coming season.
We! ! we, who are strong ! we, mighty and manly and cunning, Once we are dead, we are hid and unheard in the nethermost. hollows ; Sleep through long-drawn ages, a slumber that knows no awaking..
AN ANSWER THEREUNTO.
Stay ! stay ! Speak not the blossoms that withered and died ino the autumn,
Lively and fresh once more, when the spring's warm breathing awakes them,—
Speak they not blithely of hopes, yea, e'en in the darkness off Hades ?
We, too ! Are we so vile, uncared for, unknown to the Father ? Shall we not rise yet again, when the winter of sleeping is loosened? Shall we not wake all clear from the wrinkled decay of the autumn ?
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