Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!
It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom,
To see thee. Absalom!

"And now, farewell! 'T is hard to give thee up,
With death so like a gentle slumber on thee!--
And thy dark skin!--oh! I could drink the cup,
If from this woe its bitterness had won thee.
May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home,
My lost boy Absalom!"

He covered up his face, and bowed himself
A moment on his child; then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
His hands convulsively as if in prayer;
And, as if strength were given him of God,
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall
Firmly and decently--and left him there,
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.
N. P. Willis.


CLXVII.

"LOOK NOT UPON THE WINE."

Look not upon the wine when it
Is red within the cup!
Stay not for pleasure when she fills
Her tempting beaker up!