'Tis past--that Speaking Form is flown--
But memory's pleased and listening ear,
Shall oft recall that choral tone,
To love and poetry so dear.

And far away in after time,
Shall blended Piety and Love
Find fond expression in the rhyme,
Bequeathed to earth by One above.

* * * * *

Poor lute!--thy bounding pulse is still,--
Yet all thy silence I forgive,
That thus thy last--thy dying thrill,
Would make Her gentle virtues live!

[Footnote A: Written by request for the "Memorial," a work published in
New-York, 1850, in commemoration of the late Frances S. Osgood,--edited
by Mary E. Hewett.]




The Old Oak.


[Illustration: The Old Oak]