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We will not, or we cannot fling
Its sadness from our breast,
We cling to it instinctively,

We pant for its unrest!

We are scatter'd-we are scatter'd!
Yet may we meet again
In a brighter and a purer sphere,

Beyond the reach of pain!
Where the shadows of this lower world
Can never cloud the eye-

When the mortal hath put brightly on Its immortality!

TO H. A. B.

DEEM not, beloved, that the glow

Of love with youth will know decay; For, though the wing of Time may throw A shadow o'er our way;

The sunshine of a cloudless faith,

The calmness of a holy trust,
Shall linger in our hearts till death
Consigns our "dust to dust!"

The fervid passions of our youth-
The fervour of affection's kiss-
Love, born of purity and truth-

All memories of bliss

These still are ours, while looking back
Upon the past with dewy eyes;
O, dearest! on life's vanish'd track
How much of sunshine lies!

Men call us poor-it may be true

Amid the gay and glittering crowd; We feel it, though our wants are few,

Yet envy not the proud.

The freshness of love's early flowers,
Heart-shelter'd through long years of want,
Pure hopes and quiet joys are ours,

That wealth could never grant.

Something of beauty from thy brow,
Something of lightness from thy tread,
Hath pass'd-yet thou art dearer now
Than when our vows were said:
A softer beauty round thee gleams,

Chasten'd by time, yet calmly bright;
And from thine eye of hazel beams
A deeper, tenderer light:

An emblem of the love which lives
Through every change, as time departs;
Which binds our souls in one, and gives
New gladness to our hearts!
Flinging a halo over life

Like that which gilds the life beyond!
Ah! well I know thy thoughts, dear wife!
To thoughts like these respond.

The mother, with her dewy eye,

Is dearer than the blushing bride
Who stood, three happy years gone by,
In beauty by my side!
Our Father, throned in light above,
Hath bless'd us with a fairy child--

A bright link in the chain of love--
The pure and undefiled:

Rich in the heart's best treasure, still

With a calm trust we'll journey on,
Link'd heart with heart, dear wife! until
Life's pilgrimage be done!
Youth--beauty--passion--these will pass
Like every thing of earth away--
The breath-stains on the polish'd glass
Less transient are than they.

But love dies not--the child of GOD--
The soother of life's many woes-
She scatters fragrance round the sod
Where buried hopes repose!

She leads us with her radiant hand
Earth's pleasant streams and pasture by,
Still pointing to a better land

Of bliss beyond the sky!

ΤΟ

HOPE, strewing with a liberal hand
Thy pathway with her choicest flowers,
Making the earth an Eden-land,

And gilding time's departing hours;
Lifting the clouds from life's blue sky,
And pointing to that sphere divine
Where joy's immortal blossoms lie
In the rich light of heaven-be thine!
Love, with its voice of silvery tone,

Whose music melts upon the heart Like whispers from the world unknown, When shadows from the soul departLove, with its sunlight melting through The mists that over earth are driven, And giving earth itself the hue

And brightness of the upper-heavenPeace, hymning with her seraph-tones Amid the stillness of thy soul, Till every human passion owns

Her mighty but her mild controlDevotion, with her lifted eye,

All radiant with the tears of bliss, Looking beyond the bending sky

To worlds more glorious than this

Duty, untiring in her toil

Earth's parch'd and sterile wastes amongZeal, delving in the rocky soil,

With words of cheer upon her tongue-
Faith, with a strong and daring hand
Rending aside the veil of heaven,
And claiming as her own the land

Whose glories to her view are given-
These, with the many lights that shine
Brightly life's pilgrim-path upon,—
These, with the bliss they bring, be thine,
Till purer bliss in heaven be won;
Till, gather'd with the loved of time,
Whose feet the "narrow way" have trod,
Thy soul shall drink of joys sublime,
And linger in the smile of God!

SONG.

BELIEVE not the slander, my dearest KATRINE! For the ice of the world hath not frozen my heart; In my innermost spirit there still is a shrine

Where thou art remember'd, all pure as thou art: The dark tide of years, as it bears us along,

Though it sweep away hope in its turbulent flow, Cannot drown the low voice of Love's eloquent song, Nor chill with its waters my faith's early glow.

True, the world hath its snares, and the soul may grow faint

In its strifes with the follies and falsehoods of earth;

And amidst the dark whirl of corruption, a taint May poison the thoughts that are purest at birth. Temptations and trials, without and within,

From the pathway of virtue the spirit may lure; But the soul shall grow strong in its triumphs o'er sin, And the heart shall preserve its integrity pure.

The finger of Love, on my innermost heart,

Wrote thy name, O adored! when my feelings were young;

And the record shall 'bide till my soul shall depart, And the darkness of death o'er my being be flung. Then believe not the slander that says I forget,

In the whirl of excitement, the love that was thine; Thou wert dear in my boyhood, art dear to me yet: For my sunlight of life is the smile of KATRINE!

THE BROOK.

"LIKE thee, O stream! to glide in solitude
Noiselessly on, reflecting sun or star,
Unseen by man, and from the great world's jar
Kept evermore aloof: methinks 't were good
To live thus lonely through the silent lapse

Of my appointed time." Not wisely said,
Unthinking Quietist! The brook hath sped
Its course for ages through the narrow gaps
Of rifted hills and o'er the reedy plain,
Or mid the eternal forests, not in vain;
The grass more greenly groweth on its brink,
And lovelier flowers and richer fruits are there,
And of its crystal waters myriads drink,

That else would faint beneath the torrid air.

Of impious tramplers rescued peril'd right,

Is call'd fanatic, and with scoffs and jeers Maliciously assail'd. The poor man's tears Are unregarded; the oppressor's might Revered as law; and he whose righteous way Departs from evil, makes himself a prey.

SOLITUDE.

THE ceaseless hum of men, the dusty streets,
Crowded with multitudinous life; the din
Of toil and traffic, and the wo and sin,
The dweller in the populous city meets :
These have I left to seek the cool retreats

Of the untrodden forest, where, in bowers Builded by Nature's hand, inlaid with flowers, And roof'd with ivy, on the mossy seats

Reclining, I can while away the hours
In sweetest converse with old books, or give
My thoughts to Gon; or fancies fugitive

Indulge, while over me their radiant showers Of rarest blossoms the old trees shake down, And thanks to HIM my meditations crown!

RAIN.

DASHING in big drops on the narrow pane,
And making mournful music for the mind,
While plays his interlude the wizard wind,
I hear the ringing of the frequent rain:

How doth its dreamy tone the spirit lull,
Bringing a sweet forgetfulness of pain,
While busy thought calls up the past again,

And lingers mid the pure and beautiful Visions of early childhood! Sunny faces

Meet us with looks of love, and in the moans Of the faint wind we hear familiar tones, And tread again in old familiar places! Such is thy power, O Rain! the heart to bless, Wiling the soul away from its own wretchedness!

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THE TIMES.

INACTION now is crime. The old earth reels Inebriate with guilt; and Vice, grown bold, Laughs Innocence to scorn. The thirst for gold Hath made men demons, till the heart that feels The impulse of impartial love, nor kneels

In worship foul to Mammon, is contemn'd. He who hath kept his purer faith, and stemm'd Corruption's tide, and from the ruffian heels

Amid the ancient forests of a land
Wild, gloomy, vast, magnificently grand!

Friends, country, hallow'd homes they left, to be Pilgrims for CHRIST's sake, to a foreign strandBeset by peril, worn with toil, yet free! Tireless in zeal, devotion, labour, hope;

Constant in faith; in justice how severe ! Though fools deride and bigot-skeptics sneer, Praise to their names! If call'd like them to cope, In evil times, with dark and evil powers, O, be their faith, their zeal, their courage ours!

WILLIAM JEWETT PABODIE.

[Born about 1812.]

MR. PABODIE is a native of Providence, in Rhode Island. He was admitted to the bar in the spring of 1837, and has since, I believe, practised his profession in his native city. His principal work is "Calidore, a Legendary Poem," published |

in 1839. It possesses considerable merit, but is not so carefully finished as some of his minor pieces, nor is there any thing strikingly original in its fable or sentiments. His writings are more distinguished for elegance than for vigour.

GO FORTH INTO THE FIELDS.

Go forth into the fields,

Ye denizens of the pent city's mart!
Go forth and know the gladness nature yields
To the care-wearied heart.

Leave ye the feverish strife,
The jostling, eager, self-devoted throng;—
Ten thousand voices, waked anew to life,
Call you with sweetest song.

Hark! from each fresh-clad bough,
Or blissful soaring in the golden air,
Bright birds with joyous music bid you now
To spring's loved haunts repair.

The silvery gleaming rills

Lure with soft murmurs from the grassy lea,
Or gayly dancing down the sunny hills,
Call loudly in their glee!

And the young, wanton breeze,

With breath all odorous from her blossomy chase, In voice low whispering 'mong th'embowering trees, Woos you to her embrace.

Go-breathe the air of heaven, Where violets meekly smile upon your way; Or on some pine-crown'd summit, tempest riven, Your wandering footsteps stay.

Seek ye the solemn wood,

Whose giant trunks a verdant roof uprear,
And listen, while the roar of some far flood
Thrills the young leaves with fear!
Stand by the tranquil lake,

Sleeping mid willowy banks of emerald dye,
Save when the wild bird's wing its surface break,
Checkering the mirror'd sky--

And if within your breast,

Hallow'd to nature's touch, one chord remain ;
If aught save worldly honours find you blest,
Or hope of sordid gain,--

A strange delight shall thrill,

A quiet joy brood o'er you like a dove;
Earth's placid beauty shall your bosom fill,
Stirring its depths with love.

O, in the calm, still hours,
The holy Sabbath-hours, when sleeps the air,
And heaven, and earth deck'd with her beauteous
Lie hush'd in breathless prayer,-- [flowers,

Pass ye the proud fane by, The vaulted aisles, by flaunting folly trod, And, 'neath the temple of the uplifted sky, Go forth and worship God!

TO THE AUTUMN FOREST.

RESPLENDENT hues are thine! Triumphant beauty-glorious as brief! Burdening with holy love the heart's pure shrine, Till tears afford relief.

What though thy depths be hush'd! More eloquent in breathless silence thou, Than when the music of glad songsters gush'd From every green-robed bough.

Gone from thy walks the flowers! Thou askest not their forms thy paths to fleck ;-The dazzling radiance of these sunlit bowers Their hues could not bedeck.

I love thee in the spring,

Earth-crowning forest! when amid thy shades The gentle south first waves her odorous wing, And joy fills all thy glades.

In the hot summer-time,

With deep delight thy sombre aisles I roam,
Or, soothed by some cool brook's melodious chime,
Rest on thy verdant loam.

But, O, when autumn's hand
Hath mark'd thy beauteous foliage for the grave,
How doth thy splendour, as entranced I stand,
My willing heart enslave!

I linger then with thee,

Like some fond lover o'er his stricken bride; Whose bright, unearthly beauty tells that she Here may not long abide.

When my last hours are come,
Great Gon! ere yet life's span shall all be fill'd,
And these warm lips in death be ever dumb,
This beating heart be still'd,--

Bathe thou in hues as blest--
Let gleams of Heaven about my spirit play!
So shall my soul to its eternal rest
In glory pass away!

ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.

GONE in the flush of youth! Gone ere thy heart had felt earth's withering care; Ere the stern world had soil'd thy spirit's truth, Or sown dark sorrow there.

Fled like a dream away!

But yesterday mid life's auroral bloom-
To-day, sad winter, desolate and gray,

Sighs round thy lonely tomb.

Fond hearts were beating high,

Fond eyes were watching for the loved one gone, And gentle voices, deeming thou wert nigh,

Talk'd of thy glad return.

They watch'd--not all in vain-

Thy form once more the wonted threshold pass'd; But choking sobs, and tears like summer-rain, Welcom'd thee home at last.

Friend of my youth, farewell!

To thee, we trust, a happier life is given;
One tie to earth for us hath loosed its spell,
Another form'd for heaven.

OUR COUNTRY.

OUR country!--'t is a glorious land!

With broad arms stretch'd from shore to shore, The proud Pacific chafes her strand,

She hears the dark Atlantic roar; And, nurtured on her ample breast,

How many a goodly prospect lies
In Nature's wildest grandeur drest,
Enamell'd with her loveliest dyes.

Rich prairies, deck'd with flowers of gold,
Like sunlit oceans roll afar;
Broad lakes her azure heavens behold,
Reflecting clear each trembling star,
And mighty rivers, mountain-born,

Go sweeping onward, dark and deep,
Through forests where the bounding fawn
Beneath their sheltering branches leap.
And, cradled mid her clustering hills,

Sweet vales in dreamlike beauty hide,
Where love the air with music fills;
And calm content and peace abide;
For plenty here her fulness pours

In rich profusion o'er the land,
And, sent to seize her generous store,
There prowls no tyrant's hireling band.
Great GoD! we thank thee for this home-
This bounteous birthland of the free;
Where wanderers from afar may come,
And breathe the air of liberty!--
Still may her flowers untrampled spring,
Her harvests wave, her cities rise;
And yet, till Time shall fold his wing,
Remain Earth's loveliest paradise!

I HEAR THY VOICE, O SPRING!

I HEAR thy voice, O Spring! Its flute-like tones are floating through the air, Winning my soul with their wild ravishing, From earth's heart-wearying care.

Divinely sweet thy song-

But yet, methinks, as near the groves I pass, Low sighs on viewless wings are borne along, Tears gem the springing grass.

For where are they, the young, The loved, the beautiful, who, when thy voice, A year agone, along these valleys rung, Did hear thee and rejoice!

Thou scek'st for them in vainNo more they'll greet thee in thy joyous round; Calmly they sleep beneath the murmuring main, Or moulder in the ground.

Yet peace, my heart--be still!

Look upward to yon azure sky and know,
To heavenlier music now their bosoms thrill,
Where balmier breezes blow.

For them hath bloom'd a spring,
Whose flowers perennial deck a holier sod,
Whose music is the song that seraphs sing,
Whose light, the smile of GoD!

I STOOD BESIDE HIS GRAVE.

I STOOD beside the grave of him,
Whose heart with mine had fondly beat,
While memories, from their chambers dim,
Throng'd mournful, yet how sadly sweet!
It was a calm September eve,

The stars stole trembling into sight,
Save where the day, as loth to leave,

Still flush'd the heavens with rosy light.
The crickets in the grass were heard,
The city's murmur softly fell,
And scarce the dewy air was stirr'd,
As faintly toll'd the evening-bell.

O Death! had then thy summons come,
To bid me from this world away,-
How gladly had I hail'd the doom
That stretch'd me by his mouldering clay!
And twilight deepen'd into night,

And night itself grew wild and drear,-
For clouds rose darkly on the sight,

And winds sigh'd mournful on the ear:

And yet I linger'd mid the fern,
Though gleam'd no star the eye to bless-
For, O, 't was agony to turn

And leave him to his loneliness!

LOUIS LEGRAND NOBLE.

[Born, 1912.]

THE Reverend LOUIS LEGRAND NOBLE was born in the valley of the Butternut Creek, in Otsego county, in New York. While he was a youth his father removed to the banks of the Wacamutquiock, now called the Huron, a small river in Michigan, and there, among scenes of remarkable wildness and beauty, he passed most of his time until the commencement of his college-life. In a letter to me, he says: "I was ever under a strong impulse to imbody in language my thoughts, feelings, fancies, as they sprung up in the presence of the rude but

beautiful things around me: the prairies on fire, the sparkling lakes, the park-like forests, Indians on the hunt, guiding their frail canoes amid the rapids, or standing at night in the red light of their festival fires. I breathed the air of poetry." In the same letter he remarks that he is "indebted, for his intellectual and moral culture, to SAMUEL W. DEXTER, of Boston." He was admitted to holy orders in the Protestant Episcopal Church, in 1840, and now, I believe, resides in South Carolina.

THE CRIPPLE-BOY.

I.

Upon an Indian rush-mat, spread

Where burr-oak boughs a coolness shed,
Alone he sat, a cripple-child,
With eyes so large, so dark and wild,
And fingers, thin and pale to see,
Locked upon his trembling knee.
A-gathering nuts so blithe and gay,
The children early tripp'd away;
And he his mother had besought
Under the oak to have him brought;-
It was ever his seat when blackbirds sung
The wavy, rustling tops among;—

They calm'd his pain,--they cheer'd his loneliness-
The gales,-the music of the wilderness.

II.

Upon a prairie wide and wild

Look'd off that suffering cripple-child:

The hour was breezy, the hour was bright;— O, 't was a lively, a lovely sight!

An eagle sailing to and fro

Around a flitting cloud so white-
Across the billowy grass below
Darting swift their shadows' light :-
And mingled noises sweet and clear,
Noises out of the ringing wood,
Were pleasing trouble in his ear,
A shock how pleasant to his blood:
O, happy world!--Beauty and Blessing slept
On everything but him-he felt, and wept.

III.

Humming a lightsome tune of yore,
Beside the open log-house door,
Tears upon his sickly cheek

Saw his mother, and so did speak ;

<< What makes his mother's HENRY weep? You and I the cottage keep;

They hunt the nuts and clusters blue,
Weary lads for me and you;

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And yonder see the quiet sheep--
Why, now--I wonder why you weep!"-
"Mother, I wish that I could be

A sailor on the breezy sea!"

"A sailor on the stormy sea, my son!What ails the boy!-what have the breezes done!"

IV.

"I do!-I wish that I could be

A sailor on the rolling sea: In the shadow of the sails I would ride and rock all day, Going whither blow the gales, As I have heard a seaman say: I would, I guess, come back again For my mother now and then; And the curling fire so bright, When the prairie burns at night; And tell the wonders I had seen Away upon the ocean green;" "Hush! hush! talk not about the ocean so; Better at home a hunter hale to go."

V.

Between a tear and sigh he smiled;

And thus spake on the cripple-child :"I would I were a hunter hale, Nimbler than the nimble doe, Bounding lightly down the dale, But that will never be, I know! Behind the house the woodlands lie; A prairie wide and green before; And I have seen them with my eye A thousand times or more; Yet in the woods I never stray'd, Or on the prairie-border play'd;O, mother dear, that I could only be A sailor-boy upon the rocking sea!"

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