Something of beauty from thy brow,
Something of lightness from thy tread,
Hath passed-yet thou art dearer now
Than when our vows were said.
A softer beauty round thee gleams
Chastened 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 blessed 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,
Linked 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 polished 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!

MARY HOWITT.

Priestess of Nature! in the solemn woods
And by the sullen sea, whose ceaseless roar
Speaks of God's majesty for evermore,

And where the cataracts dash their shattered floods
Down to the iris girdled gulfs which yawn
Eternally beneath, thy hand hath reared
Altars whereon no blood-stain hath appeared-
But there, at dewy eve, or kindling dawn,
Meek-hearted children, with their offerings
Of buds or bursting flowers, together kneel
In gladdest worship, till their spirits feel
A new and holier baptism; while the springs
Of joy are opened, and their waters flow
Forth to the laughing light, exulting as they go!

TO MY QUAKER COUSIN.

"Don't tell me of the feelings, the fine sensibilities, the hope and joy, and the true poetry of man's life being blunted by the increase of years! Why, I'll hate old age, if it is true! Make this, if thee pleases, no longer an apology for the laziness thee is guilty of when thee ceases to give us and every body the scintillations of thy poetical genius.' It is not that thy days are in the yellow leaf,' but that they are days of downright-laziness!"

Extract from her letter. Yes, thou art right, sweet coz! I own

I am a lazy rhymer-very,-
And seldom gives my harp a tone

Of willing music, sad or merry ;
Its strings are snapped, or out of tune,
And I myself am out of fashion,
For wailing ditties to the moon
Was never my peculiar passion.

I never wet my thirsty lip

At Helicon's inspiring fountain,
Nor even in fancy took a trip

To meet the Muses on their mountain.
The voice of Fame is sweet enough,
Doubtless, for devotees who love her,
But then her hill is quite too rough
And steep for me to clamber over.
Lazy and uninspired, can I

Write for thee canzonet or sonnet?
Or, smitten by thy beauty, try

To perpetrate a song upon it?
No-though thy charms of face and form

Would madden, like a heavenly vision,
When wine and love had rendered warm
Some dreamer of the fields Elysian!
No-though the wicked world should swear
Thou art the latest importation

From that bright realm where seraphs are
Bending for aye in adoration!

For beauty is at discount now

With the dull muse that weaves my numbers, Nor laughing eye, nor polished brow, Gleams on her in her dreamless slumbers.

But, for the brightness of thy youth,

And for the chastened love I bear thee,

And for thy gentleness and truth,
Which even thievish Time must spare thee,
And for thy heart which overflows
With kindness for the wronged and lowly,
And for thy guileless soul which glows
With tenderest feelings, pure and holy-
And for that fervent zeal for Right

Which burneth in thy bosom ever,
And for that steadfast faith whose might
In perils's hour shall fail thee never-

For human sympathies, which bring

True hearts around thee to adore thee

For these, dear coz! I kneel and fling
The tribute of my song before thee.

Others may sonnetize the spell

That lives within thy radiant glances, And lying bardlings boldly tell

That loveliness around thee dances; Vows may be offered thee in rhyme,

And worship paid in common metre But these will pass with passing time, For beauty than the wind is fleeter.

Be mine the better task to find

For thee a tribute undegrading : Flowers from the garden of the mind,

Fragrant and pure, and never fading— Gems from the mines of knowledge won, Brighter than fancy ever painted-

An offering to lay upon

The altar of a heart untainted.

So, when the hand of Time hath reft
From face and form thy youthful graces,

A tenderer beauty shall be left

To sanctify their fading traces; A chastened radiance, born of Thought, Around thy path shall then be shining, With more than earthly brightness fraught, To gild and bless thy life's declining!

STANZAS,

TO THE ABOLITIONISTS OF AMERICA.

Toil and pray!

Groweth flesh and spirit faint? Think of her who pours her plaint All the day

Her-the wretched negro wife, Robbed of all that sweetens life-Her-who weeps in anguish wild For the husband and the child Torn away!

Nature's ties,

Binding heart with kindred heart,
Rent remorselessly apart-

Tears and sighs,
Shrieks and prayers unheeded given,
Calling out from earth to heaven-
All that speaks the slave's distress-
All that in his cup doth press
Agonies-

Wo and blight,

Broken heart and palsied mind, Reason crushed and conscience blind, Darkest night

He worthy is of freedom-only he
Who claims the boon for all-and, strong in right,
Rebukes the proud oppressor by whose might
The poor are crushed-for TRUTH hath made him free,
And Love hath sanctified his liberty!
When Tyranny his horrid head uprears,

And blasts the earth with pestilential breath,
Girded with righteousness and strong in faith,
He stems the tide of wrong; nor scoffs, nor jeers,
Nor ruffian threats, nor fierce mobocracy,
Can daunt his soul, or turn him from the path
Where duty points. Not his the craven heart
That shrinks when tyrants bluster in their wrath;
But well in Freedom's strife he bears his part.

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 roofed with ivy, on the mossy seats
Reclining, I can while away the hours
In sweetest converse with old books, or give
My thoughts to God-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!

ARCHY MOORE.

Ye may tread on the poor-but not long!
Ye may torture the weak--while ye dare!

When nerved by revenge and despair! Let the fetter be tightened!-the sooner 'twill break! Trample on!--and the serf shall more quickly awake!

*

666

Farewell my country! Much is the gratitude and thanks I owe thee! Land of the tyrant and the slave, farewell!'

"And welcome, welcome, ye bounding billows and foaming surges of the ocean! Ye are the emblems and the children of liberty-I hail ye as my brothers!-for, at last, I too am free! - free !— free!'”—Archy Moore, Vol. II. p. 146–7.

From my heel I have broken the chain!

I have shivered the yoke from my neck! Free!-free!-as the plover that rides on the mainAs the waters that dash o'er our deck! In my bosom new feelings are born-

New hopes have sprung up in my pathAnd I leave to my country defiance and scorn, The curse of a fugitive's wrath!

My country?-away!-for the gifts which she gave Were the whip and the fetter-the life of a slave!

Thank God that a limit is set

To the reach of the tyrant's control!

That the down-trodden serf may not wholly forget
The right and the might of his soul!
That though years of oppression may dim
The fire on the heart's altar laid,

Yet, lit by the breath of Jehovah, like Him
It lives, and shall live, undecayed!

Will the fires of the mountain grow feeble and die?
Beware!-for the tread of the Earthquake is nigh!

Proud Land!-there is vengeance in store

For thy soul-crushing despots and theeWhen Mercy, grown faint, shall no longer implore, But the day of thy recompense be

When thy cup with the mixture of wrath

Shall be full-the Avenger, in power,
Shall sweep like a tempest of fire o'er thy path,
Consuming the tree and the flower-

And thy mountains shall echo the shriek of despair,
While the smoke of thy torment shall darken the air!

Wo! wo! to the forgers of chains,

Who trample the image of God:

Calls for vengeance the blood of the bondman, which stains

The cursed and the verdureless sod!

My country-the land of my birth!
Farewell to thy fetters and thee!
The by-word of tyrants-the scorn of the earth-
A mockery to all shalt thou be!
Hurra! for the sea and its waves!

Ye billows and surges-all hail!
My brothers henceforth-for ye scorn to be slaves,
→s ye toss up your crests to the gale!
Farewell to the land of the charter and chain,"-
My path is away o'er the fetterless main!

A SUMMER MORNING IN THE COUNTRY. How sweetly on the hill-side sleeps

The sunlight with its quickening rays!
The verdant trees that crown the steeps
Grow greener in its quivering blaze:
While all the air that round us floats

With subtile wing, breathes only life-
And, ringing with a thousand notes,
The woods with song are rife.

Why, this is Nature's holiday!

She puts her gayest mantle on-
And, sparkling o'er their pebbly way,
With gladder shout the brooklets run;
The birds and breezes seem to give

A sweeter cadence to their song-
A brighter life the insects live
That float in light along.

"The cattle on a thousand hills,"

The fleecy flocks that dot the vale, All joy alike in life, that fills

The air, and breathes in every gale!
And who that has a heart and eye

To feel the bliss and drink it in,
But pants, for scenes like these, to fly
The city's smoke and din-

A sweet companionship to hold

With Nature in her forest-bowers,
And learn the gentle lessons told

By singing birds and opening flowers?
Nor do they err who love her lore-
Though books have power to stir my heart,
Yet Nature's varied page can more
Of rapturous joy impart !

No selfish joy-if Duty calls,

Not sullenly I turn from these-
Though dear the dash of waterfalls,

The wind's low voice among the trees,
Birds, flowers, and flocks-for God hath taught
-Oh, keep, my heart! the lesson still-
His soul, alone, with bliss is fraught,
Who heeds the Father's will!

EXPOSTULATION.

"Like thee, oh 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 'twere 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 vainThe 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.

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 conteroned. He who hath kept his purer faith, and stemmed Corruption's tide, and from the ruffian heels Of impious tramplers rescued periled Right,

Is called fanatic, and with scoffs and jeers Maliciously assailed. 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.

What then? Shall he who wars for Truth succumb To popular Falsehood, and throw down his shield, And drop the sword he hath been taught to wield In Virtue's cause? Shall Righteousness be dumb, Awe-struck before Injustice? No!-a cry,

"Ho! to the rescue!" from the hills hath rung, And men have heard and to the combat sprung Strong for the right, to conquer or to die!

Up, Loiterer! for on the winds are flung The banners of the Faithful!-and erect Beneath their folds the hosts of God's Elect

Stand in their strength. Be thou their ranks among. Fear not, nor falter, though the strife endure, Thy cause is sacred, and the victory sure.

THE OLD MAN'S SOLILOQUY,

(The middle of December-Thermometer at Zero.) This feels like winter! Ugh! how bitterly Cometh the keen northwester! In the west Dark clouds are piled in gloomy masses up, And from their folds comes freezingly the breath Of the Storm-Spirit, couched and shrouded there. But yestermorn the streams were murmuring With their low, silvery voices, pouring forth

Their own peculiar music on the air,

And glancing in the sunshine radiantly.

Now their clear tones are hushed-for the Frost-King
Hath thrown his fetter on them, and evoked
The voice of melody that dwelt with them
In the bright sunny hours, and they are staid
In their free current, frozen, murmurless.

Where stays the sunshine? Hath it learned that
Earth

Is chilled through all her veins, and for some g udge
That seemed forgotten long ago, resolved
To let it freeze for ever? Or, perchance,
The sun himself is frozen. If that cloud,
That hangs so like a pall along the sky,
Would move his body corporate, and begone
Back to his ocean-mansion, we might learn
Whether the sun be dead or slumbering.

Ho bring my cloak, Katurah! Heap the wood
On the hot hearth-draw up the high-backed screen :
Let the winds whistle now, if so they will-
I care but little for their minstrelsy,
So I can shut from me their freezing breath.
Well-I am warm and quiet; but, i' faith,
I pity the poor wight that's forced to face
Old Boreas to-day. Necessity
Alone will call forth travellers, and-ugh! ugh!
This cough ugh ugh!-will kill me presently
An' I am not more careful. Oh, the seams
Around the doors and windows are unclosed.
List-List-a roll of list! I will not freeze
In my own domicil. Heap on the wood,
And throw another mantle round me-there!

Hark! as I live, I hear the ringing sound
Of the light skaters on the frozen lake—
And see how merrily they wheel away
In swift gyrations o'er the glassy ice,
As if a power were given them to fly !

The happy dogs!-Heaven grant they may not freeze.
I thought no boy would venture out to-day
For sport or labor, an' he were not flogged
For tarrying within. Well, after all,
And I remember me when I was young,
It may not be so very cold for them—
How little cared I for the biting frost,
So I might whirl upon the ringing steel
Merrily on, surrounded by a group
As happy as myself, all life and joy!

But s'death: a few short years will make a change
In a man's sensitiveness, 'specially

When they bring with them gout and rheumatism,
Toothachs and agues, fevers and catarrhs-
And worse, far worse than aught, ay, than all else,
Dread hypochondria! They will find it so-
Those merry boys now skating on the lake-
If they, like me, indulge in turtle-soup,
Sauces, and pies, and cakes, and the whole round
Of eatables and drinkables which load

Their glutton-feeding table, who, like me,

Are cursed with wealth that brings but pain and care.
Would I were still a merry, penny less boy,
As light of foot and heart as I was once-
Free from dispepsy-free from every pain
Money has purchased for me!-then would I
Bind the bright skate upon my agile heel,
And skim-ugh! ugh!-I've added to my cold.

OUR BESSIE.

Oh, Bessie was a bonny girl

As ever happy mother kissed

And when our FATHER called her home, How sadly was she missed!

For grave or gay, or well or ill,

She had a thousand winning ways,

And mingled infant innocence

In all her tasks and plays.

How softly beamed her happy smile,

Which played around the sweetest mouth

That ever fashioned infant-words

The sunshine of the South, Mellowed and soft, was in her eye,

And gleamed its brightness o'er her hairAll creatures that had life, I ween, Did her affections share.

Our Bessie had a loving heart;

No living girl could gentler be--
And 'twas her happiness to sit

Upon her father's knee;
And as he talked of heavenly things,
And told of HIM who made the light,
Her eye, uplit with spirit-beams,

Grew brighter and more bright.

With reverent voice she breathed her prayer, With gentlest tones she sang her hymnAnd when she talked of heaven, our eyes

With tears of joy were dim; Yet in our selfish grief we wept

When last her lips upon us smiled-
Oh, could we, when our FATHER called,
Detain the happy child?

Our home is poor, and cold our clime,
And misery mingles with our mirth-
'Twas meet our Bessie should depart
From such a weary earth!
Oh, she is safe!-no cloud can dim
The brightness of her ransomed soul!
No trials vex, no tempter lure

Her spirit from its goal!

We wrapt her in her snow-white shroud-
We smoothed again her sunny hair,

And crossed her hands upon her breast-
Oh! she was wondrous fair!