of her song. If her power of expression was equal to the purity and elevation of her habits of thought and feeling, she would be a female Milton or a Christian Pindar." WIDOW AT HER DAUGHTER'S BRIDAL. Deal gently, thou, whose hand hath won Yet hear her gushing song no more. Deal gently with her: thou art dear, The wreath of changeless love shall twine, Watch for thy step at vesper hour, And blend her holiest prayer with thine. Deal gently, thou, when, far away, 'Mid stranger scenes her foot shall rove, Nor let thy tender care decay, The soul of woman lives in love: And shouldst thou, wondering, mark a tear, Be pitiful, and soothe the fear That man's strong heart may ne'er partake. A mother yields her gem to thee, On thy true breast to sparkle rare, When judgment wakes in terror wild, NIAGARA. Flow on forever, in thy glorious robe Keep silence, and upon thy rocky altar pour And who can dare To lift the insect trump of earthly hope, To sleep like a spent laborer, and recall The morning stars, When first they sang o'er young creation's birth, Thy glorious features with our pencil's point, Were profanation. Thou dost make the soul A wondering witness of thy majesty; To tread thy vestibule, dost chain its step, And check its rapture with the humbling view Of its own nothingness, bidding it stand In the dread presence of the Invisible, As if to answer to its God through thee. A BUTTERFLY ON A CHILD'S GRAVE. A butterfly bask'd on a baby's grave, Then it lightly soar'd through the sunny air, "I was a worm till I won my wings, And she whom thou mourn'st, like a seraph sings: Wouldst thou call the blest one back?" DEATH OF AN INFANT. Death found strange beauty on that polish'd brow, And dash'd it out. On cheek and lip. And the rose faded. There was a tint of rose He touch'd the veins with ice, There spake a wishful tenderness, a doubt Death gazed, and left it-there. He dared not steal ALPINE FLOWERS. Meek dwellers 'mid yon terror-stricken cliffs! With brows so pure, and incense-breathing lips, Whence are ye? Did some white-wing'd messenger On mercy's missions trust your timid germ To the cold cradle of eternal snows? Or, breathing on the callous icicles, Bid them with tear-drops nurse ye? -Tree nor shrub Dare that drear atmosphere; no polar pine Of desolation. Man, who, panting, toils O'er slippery steeps, or, trembling, treads the verge And marks ye in your placid loveliness,- CONTENTMENT. Think'st thou the steed that restless roves With wild, unbridled bound, Within her waxen round? Think'st thou the fountain forced to turn Than that which, in its native sphere, Think'st thou the man whose mansions hold Than he who, in his cot at rest, THE CORAL-INSECT. Toil on toil on! ye ephemeral train, Who build in the tossing and treacherous main; Toil on-for the wisdom of man ye mock, With your sand-based structures and domes of rock: Your columns the fathomless fountains lave, And your arches spring up to the crested wave; Ye're a puny race, thus to boldly rear A fabric so vast, in a realm so drear. Ye bind the deep with your secret zone, The ocean is seal'd, and the surge a stone; The turf looks green where the breakers roll'd; And the mountains exult where the wave hath been. But why do ye plant 'neath the billows dark With mouldering bones the deeps are white, And the gods of ocean have frown'd to see Hath earth no graves, that ye thus must spread Ye build-ye build-but ye enter not in, Like the tribes whom the desert devour'd in their sin; Ere its verdure gleams forth on your weary eye; Their noteless bones in oblivion hid, Ye slumber unmark'd 'mis the desolate main, THE GAIN OF ADVERSITY. "Sweet are the uses of adversity." A Lily said to a threatening Cloud "You have taken my lord, the Sun, away, It folded its leaves, and trembled sore As the hours of darkness press'd it, Then it felt ashamed of its fretful thought, For the night of weeping had jewels brought, THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. The aged, especially if their conquest of self is imperfect, are prone to underrate the advantages that remain. Their minds linger among depressing subjects, repining for what "time's effacing fingers" will never restore. Far better would it be to muse on their remaining privileges, to recount them, and to rejoice in them. Many instances have I witnessed, both of this spirit, and the want of it, which left enduring impressions. I well remember an ancient dwelling, sheltered by lofty, umbrageous trees, and with all the appendages of rural comfort. A fair prospect of hill and dale, and broad river, and distant spire, cheered the vine-covered piazzas, through whose loop-holes, with the subdued cry of the steam-borne cars, the world's great Babel made a dash at the picture without coming too near. Traits of agricultural life, divested of its rude and sordid toils, were pleasantly visible. A smooth-coated and symmetrical cow ruminated over her clover-meal. A faithful horse, submissive to the gentlest |