This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1875* edition. Excerpt: ...let the truthful sunlight through. For me the hooded herbs of autumn grow Square-stemmed and sober; mint and sage, Horehound and balm--such plants as healers know; And the decline of life's long pilgrimage Is soft and sweet with marjoram and thyme--Bright with pure evening dew, not serpents' glittering slime. And round my path the aromatic air Breathes health and perfume, and the turfy ground Is soft for weary feet, and smooth and fair With little thornless blossoms that abound In safe, dry places, where the mountain side Lies to the setting sun, and no ill beast can hide. What is there to regret? Why should I mourn To leave the forest and the marsh behind, Or towards the rank, low meadows sadly turn? Since here another loveliness I find, Safer and not less beautiful--and blest With glimpses, faint and far, of the long-wishedfor Rest. And so I drop the roses from my hand, And let the thorn-pricks heal, and take my way Down hill, across a fair and peaceful land Lapt in the golden calm of dying day--Glad that the night is near, and glad to know That, rough or smooth the way, / have not far to go. flig Croae. IT is not heavy, agonizing woe Bearing me down with hopeless, crushing weight; No ray of comfort in the gathering gloom; A heart bereaved, a household desolate. It is not sickness, with her withering hand, Keeping me low upon a couch of pain; Longing each morning for the weary night--At night for weary day to come again. It is not poverty with chilling blast, The sunken eye, the hunger-wasted form; The dear ones perishing for lack of bread, With no safe shelter from the winter's storm. It is not slander with her evil tongue; 'Tis not "presumptuous sins" against my God; Not reputation lost, nor friends betrayed; That such is...