The Express.
London, England, 1858-06-21 00:00:00

LONDON, MONDAY EVENING, JUNE 21, 1858.

What laths ray lam, *ea wit
8o weary end MI of p
That trembling Hope k,.. it,
Never to come soh P
Ody mother heart,
Tender and Wee own,
In the Mill grave it his,
I weep Mow!
There in deep feeling in this:

TOO ransoms GRATZ.
No name to bid us know
Who mete below,
No weld of death or birth,
Only the greases wave
One a mound of earth,
Over a nameless grave.
Did an poor wandering heart
Tla.Lieln deart
, but spn too late,
For oalm home again,
When patient watchers wait,
And still will wait in vale.
Did mourners owe in scorn,
Aad thus forlorn
Leave him, with grief and shame,
Te silence and decay,
And hide the tamiahed name
Of the unconscious clay?
It may he from his side
Ifis loved ones died,
And lest of some bright band
(Together now once mare).
sensid las hosts, the land
When they were gone before.
No terinsr, liars hem made
As cool a shade,
And Unpring teems pass
As tenderly sod slow,
As if beneath the grass
A monarch slept below.
No grief, though loud and deep,
Could stir that sleep;
And earth and heaven tell
Of rest that shall not °ease
Where the cold world's farewell

Fades into endlees
One more passage, to show with what passionate
pathos this thoughtful and tender poet can tell a
story of human agony. A captive in Algiers has
left a wife and child behind him : he escapes, re-
turns, and finds—this :
It was evening in late autumn,
And the gusty wind blew chill ;
Autumn leaves were falling round me,
And the red sun lit the bill.
Six-and-twenty years are vanished
Since then-1 am old and grey—
But I never told to mortal
What I saw until this day.
She was seated by the Sr.,
Ice her arms she held a child,
Whispering baby-words altillAM
And then, looking up, she
Smiled on him who stood beside her—
Oh, the bitter truth was told,
In her look of trusting fondnem,—
I had seen the look of old.
But she rose sad turned towards me
(Cold and dumb I waited there)
With a shriek of fear and terror,
And a white face of despair.
He had been an snobs' contred•—
Not a single word we said,
While we rased upon each other,
Ha the living: I the deed I
I drew nearer, nearer to her,
Aad I took her trembling band,
Looking on her white face, looking
That her heart might understand
AU the love and all the pity
That my lips refused to mil—
-1 thank (lod no thought save sorrow
Rose in our crusted hearts that day.
Bluer tears that desolate moment,
Bitter, bitter tears we :esp.twar
We three broken hearts
While the baby smiled aede,
Two alone—no words were
TS he—till ter beatiand said
Theta; boy (I had begotten
The poor child), that be was dead.
Then at last I rcee, and, turning,
Wrong hie hand, but made no sign ;
And I stooped and kissed her forehead
Ones mere, as if she were mine.
Nothing of farewell I uttered,
Save in broken words to pray
That Ood is Hie great love would bless her—
That in Wesel pared away.
Over the great restless ocean
For six-and-twenty years I roam ;
All my comrades, old and weary,
Have gone beck to die at bane.
How! yes, I shall reach a haven,
I, leo, shall reach home sad rest ;
I shall Sad bar waiting for no
Witk our baby on her breast.

Is it not true ? Are there not in this unpretend-
ing volume calm, and power, and beauty, and
wisdom? Is not this, too, after its kind, a genuine
book of poetry; the deliverance of an earnest soul,
for whose faU expression the metricsl form is the
only adequate form, and therefore the treat and the
beat form!