On Saturday the 16th May, 1835, she slumbered nearly all the day:  and at nine o’clock in the evening, without pain or struggle, her spirit passed away to the “Better Land.”

     ’I hear thee speak of the better land,
     Thou callest its children a happy band;
     Mother, oh, where is that radiant shore? 
     Shall we not seek it, and weep no more? 
     Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
     And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle boughs?’
        ‘Not there, not there, my child!’

     ’Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
     And the date grows ripe under sunny skies? 
     Or ’midst the green islands of glittering seas,
     Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
     And strange, bright birds, on their starry wings,
     Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?’
        ‘Not there, not there, my child!’

     ’Is it far away, in some region old,
     Where the rivers wander o’er sands of gold? 
     Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
     And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
     And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand? 
     Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?’
        ‘Not there, not there, my child!’

     ’Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy,
     Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy;
     Dreams cannot picture a world so fair—­
     Sorrow and death may not enter there: 
     Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
     For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,—­
        It is there, it is there, my child!’

Her remains were laid to rest in a grave within St. Anne’s Church, Dublin.  A tablet records her name, her age—­forty-one years—­and the date of her death.  There are added the following lines of her own:—­

     “Calm on the bosom of thy God,
        Fair spirit, rest thee now;
      E’en while with us thy footsteps trode,
        His seal was on thy brow. 
      Dust to its narrow home beneath,
        Soul to its place on high;
      They that have seen thy look in death,
        No more may fear to die.”

XII.

ABIDING WORDS.

Though many of the productions of the gifted poetess will soon be forgotten, there is no doubt that some will live.  The subjects are those which gain an admittance to the hearts of all classes.  We have already given in full that beautiful poem “The Better Land.”  There is no danger of “Casabianca” passing into oblivion.  Children delight to commit it to memory, and are all the better for the lesson of devotion to duty they have learnt.

     “Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
        As born to rule the storm;
      A creature of heroic blood,
        A proud, though childlike form.

      The flames rolled on—­he would not go
        Without his father’s word;
      That father, faint in death below,
        His voice no longer heard.”