150 THE SNOW-FLAKE. And let me too, sweet May! Let thy fond votary see As fade thy beauties, all the vanity Of this world's pomp, then teach, that though decay In his short winter, bury beauty's frame, In fairer worlds the soul shall break his sway, Another spring shall bloom eternal and the same. THE SNOW-FLAKE BY HANNAH F. GOULD. "Now, if I fall, will it be my lot To be cast in some lone, and lowly spot, And there will my course be ended?" It seemed in mid air suspended. "Oh! no," said the Earth, "thou shalt not lie Neglected and lone on my lap to die, Thou pure and delicate child of the sky! For thou wilt be safe in my keeping. THE SNOW-FLAKE. 151 But then, I must give thee a lovelier form- But revive, when the sunbeams are yellow and warm, "And then thou shalt have thy choice, to be To melt, and be cast in a glittering bead, With the pearls, that the night scatters over the mead, In the cup where the bee and the fire-fly feed, Regaining thy dazzling brightness. "I'll let thee awake from thy transient sleep, In a drop from the unlocked fountain: Or, leaving the valley, the meadow and heath, Go up and be wove in the silvery wreath Encircling the brow of the mountain. "Or, wouldst thou return to a home in the skies! To shine in the Iris I'll let thee arise, And appear in the many and glorious dyes A pencil of sunbeams is blending! 152 THE SNOW-FLAKE. But true, fair thing, as my name is Earth, "Then I will drop," said the trusting Flake; "But, bear it in mind, that the choice I make Is not in the flowers, nor the dew to wake; Nor the mist that shall pass with the morning. For, things of thyself, they will die with thee; But those that are lent from on high, like me, Must rise, and will live, from thy dust set free, To the regions above returning. "And if true to thy word and just thou art, Like the spirit that dwells in the holiest heart, Unsullied by thee, thou wilt let me depart And return to my native heaven. For I would be placed in the beautiful Bow, By the promise that God hath given !" SERENADE. BY C. DONALD MC LEOD. THE singing birds have chorused The echoes of the forest Are slumbering silently; The vesper bell is telling Thine hour for wandering forth; Its welcome tones are swelling Across the star-lit earth. And as my cithern's breathing notes Are wafted up to thee, My spirit on their music floats, The lengthening shades will hide us, Their gem-lights in the sky; They wait our first embracing, To bless us from on high. Then while the dreamy spell of night Still rests on earth and sea, Arise! oh star of my delight, Ma mignonne Eulalie! BROTHER, COME HOME. BY CATHARINE H. WATERMAN. COME home, Would I could send my spirit o'er the deep, Come home, Come to the hearts that love thee, to the eyes Come home, Come to the hearth-stone of thy earlier days, Come to the ark, like the o'er-wearied dove, |