OF WHICH THERE CAN BE NO FORGETFULNESS.

M.J.P.

* * * * *

BEECHENBROOK;

A

RHYME OF THE WAR.

* * * * *

I.

There is sorrow in Beechenbrook Cottage; the day
Has been bright with the earliest glory of May;
The blue of the sky is as tender a blue
As ever the sunshine came shimmering through:
The songs of the birds and the hum of the bees,
As they merrily dart in and out of the trees,--
The blooms of the orchard, as sifting its snows,
It mingles its odors with hawthorn and rose,--
The voice of the brook, as it lapses unseen,--
The laughter of children at play on the green,--
Insist on a picture so cheerful, so fair,
Who ever would dream that a grief could be there!

The last yellow sunbeam slides down from the wall,