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Deep and still that gliding stream
Then why pause with indecision,
Seest thou shadows sailing by,
Hear'st thou voices on the shore,
O thou child of many prayers!
Like the swell of some sweet tune,
May glides onward into June!
Childhood is the bough where slumbered
Gather then each flower that grows,
Bear a lily in thy hand;
Gates of brass cannot withstand
Bear, through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,
In thy heart the dew of youth,
On thy lips the smile of truth.
O that dew like balm shall steal
And that smile, like sunshine, dart
For a smile of God thou art.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW,
She was a Phantom of Delight.
HE was a phantom of delight
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament.
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
I saw her upon nearer view,
Her household motions light and free,
A countenance in which did meet
For human nature's daily food-
And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveler between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
With something of an angel light.
HE dwelt among the untrodden ways
A maid whom there were none to praise,
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, O!
The difference to me!
Three years she grew in sun and shower;
This child I to myself will take ;
A lady of my own.
"Myself will to my darling be
The girl, in rock and plain,
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
To kindle or restrain.
"She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs;
And hers shall be the breathing balm,
"The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend:
Nor shall she fail to see,
Even in the motions of the storm,
Grace that shall mould the maiden's form
By silent sympathy.
"The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.
"And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give,
Here in this happy dell."
Thus Nature spake.-The work was done—
She died, and left to me
This heath, this calm and quiet scene;
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be.
AT THE WINDOW.
At the Window.
HE lady she sits at her window;
And my fancies flock gladly toward her,
I scarce know the name of the lady,
Her soul is as brave as the mountains--
Sometimes her white fingers fly deftly
For she is but a clerk, is this lady;
But of comforts, and riches, and splendors,
And crown us with glories and lusters
As the stars of the Lord crown the sky