MRS. MARY MILDENSTEIN ROBERTSON,

Our buds have faded,— winter's frigid breath

Sigh'd o'er their bosoms, and they fell away,

So in these household bowers the ice of death

Bids rose and lily ere their prime decay,

And see a Passion-Flower from tropic skies

Beneath our drifted snows, not without requiem lies.

A brilliant daughter of the Cuban vales

Of generous mind, impulsive, strong and high

Twined the home-tendril where our northern gales

Sweep grove and forest with their minstrelsy,

Labor'd for classic lore with studious part,

And planted friendship's germ in many an answering heart.

Her filial piety intensely warm

Whose gushing tenderness no limit knew,

Clasp'd day and night, a Mother's wasted form

And o'er her failing powers protection threw,

Cheering the darken'd soul with comfort sweet

And girding it anew, life's latest pang to meet.

Then came the sacred vow for good or ill,

The life-long study of another's joy,

The raptur'd and unutterable thrill

With which a mother greets her first-born boy,

The climax of those hopes and duties dear

Which Heaven's unerring hand accords to Woman's sphere.

And then the scene was ended, and she found

What here her ardent nature vainly sought,

Unwithering flowers and music's tuneful sound

Without a shadow or discordant thought,

And entered through a dear Redeemer's love

The never-changing clime of perfect rest above.