ANDREW MARVELL, the friend and assistant of Milton as secretary to Cromwell, was born Nov. 15, 1620, or March 2, 1621, and died in London, Aug. 16, 1678. His poetry is sweet and beautiful. On account of his personal probity he has been called the "British Aristides."

SEE how the orient dew,

Shed from the bosom of the morn

Into the blowing roses,

Yet careless of its mansion new,
For the clear region where 't was born,
Round it itself encloses,

And in its little globe's extent
Frames, as it can, its native element.
How it the purple flower does slight,
Scarce touching where it lies!
But, gazing back upon the skies,

Shines with a mournful light:
Like its own tear,

Because so long divided from the sphere.
Restless it rolls and insecure,
Trembling, lest it grow impure;
Till the warm sun pities its pain,
And to the skies exhales it back again.

So, the soul, that drop, that ray,
Of the clear fountain of eternal day,

Could it within the human flower be seen, Remembering still its former height,

Shuns the sweet leaves and blossoms green; And, recollecting its own light,

Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express
The greater heaven in an heaven less.
In how coy a figure wound,

Every way it turns away!
To the world excluding round,
Yet receiving in the day;
Dark beneath, but bright above;
Here disdaining, there in love.
How loose and easy hence to go;
How girt and ready to ascend;
Moving but on a point below,
'n all about does upwards bend.

JOHN GARDNER CALKINS BRAINARD was born at New London, Conn., Oct. 21, 1796. He graduated at Yale College in the class of 1814, and was for some years editor of the Connecticut Mirror. He published a volume of poems in 1825, and died Sept. 26, 1828. His memoir was written by his friend, the poet John G Whittier.

THE thoughts are strange that crowd into my brain,

While I look upward to thee. It would seem As if God poured thee from his “hollow hand,” And hung his bow upon thine awful front; And spoke in that loud voice, which seemed to him

Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's sake, "The sound of many waters "; and had bade Thy flood to chronicle the ages back,

And notch his centuries in the eternal rocks.

Deep calleth unto deep And what are we, That hear the question of that voice sublime? Oh, what are all the notes that ever rung From war's vain trumpet, by thy thundering

side!

Yea, what is all the riot man can make
In his short life, to thy unceasing roar!
And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to him,
Who drowned a world, and heaped the waters
far

Above its loftiest mountains? a light wave, That breaks, and whispers of its Maker's might.

JOHN GARDNER CALKINS BRAINARD.

LAKE SUPERIOR.

SAMUEL GRISWOLD GOODRICH, better known as "Peter Parley," was born at Ridgefield, Conn., Aug. 19, 1793. and in 1824 became a publisher in Hartford, but removed to Boston, where he published a variety of popular literature. He edited and compiled one hundred and seventy volumes One of his works, a history, was prepared by Nathaniel Hawthorne, but issued in the name of Peter Parley. (See Lathrop's "Hawthorne," p. 172) He died in New York, May 9, 1860.

"FATHER of lakes!" thy waters bend

Beyond the eagle's utmost view,

When, throned in heaven, he sees thee send Back to the sky its world of blue.

Boundless and deep, the forests weave

Their twilight shade thy borders o'er, And threatening cliffs, like giants, heave Their rugged forms along thy shore.

Pale silence, mid thy hollow caves,

With listening ear, in sadness broods;
Or startled echo, o'er thy waves,
Sends the hoarse wolf-notes of thy woods.

Nor can the light canoes, that glide
Across thy breast like things of air,
Chase from thy lone and level tide
The spell of stillness deepening there.
Yet round this waste of wood and wave,
Unheard, unseen, a spirit lives,
That, breathing o'er each rock and cave,
To all a wild, strange aspect gives.

The thunder-riven oak, that flings

Its grisly arms athwart the sky,

A sudden, startling image brings

To the lone traveller's kindled eye.

The gnarled and braided boughs, that show
Their dim forms in the forest shade,
Like wrestling serpents seem, and throw
Fantastic horrors through the glade.

The very echoes round this shore

Have caught a strange and gibbering tone; For they have told the war-whoop o'er, Till the wild chorus is their own.

69

MRS. META HEusser-SchweizER was born in the village of Hirzel, canton Zürich, Switzerland, April 6, 1797, and was the fourth daughter of the pastor of the village. Her education was slight, but she was familiar with the Bible and Nature. In 1821 she became the wife of Dr. Heusser, an eminent physician who had come to Hirzel to live, and by him she had three sons and four daughters. In the midst of heavy family cares she composed poetry, some of which was first printed in Knapp's Almanac, "Christoterpe," in 1834, without her name. Since that time her poems have been widely circulated Her whole life was spent among the mountains about her birthplace. She died Jan 2, 1876. She was a woman of rare genius, culture, and piety, admired and beloved by all who knew her, although she lived retired all her life. She is the most gifted female poet in the German tongue. Several of her hymns have passed into Swiss and German hymn-books. A number of her poems were translated into English by her congenial friend, Miss Jane Borthwick of Scotland, and published by Nelson under the title "Alpine Lyrics" (Edinburgh and London, 1875).

FAIR stream of the peaceful valley,
Murmuring soft and low,

Have they robbed thee of all thy treasures,
That thou art wailing so?

Ah, what pictures of perfect beauty
Once in thy calm mirror slept!
The graceful birches and alders,
The willow that waved and wept,
The cool, deep-shaded places
Where the wild-fowl loved to rest,
The squirrel among the branches,
The linnet low in her nest!

But the sound of axe and hatchet
Came down the quiet dell;

Then the birch and the alder vanished,
The willow sighed and fell.

Now all is bare and dreary;

Over the cold gray stone
Thou goest, mourning and seeking

For loved companions gone.

Yet see! the blue heaven is mirrored
There, where the shadows lay;
The moon and the stars at midnight,
The glorious sun by day.

Flow on thy course to the ocean,

Fair stream, and lament no more! Thou hast gained more abiding treasures Than all those possessed before.

I, too, may pursue my journey,

And lament not, nor repine, —

What matter though earth be lonely,
If heaven at last be mine!

MRS. META HEUSSER SCHWEIZER, freely translated
by MISS JANE BORTHWICK, 1875.

FOR ONE RETIRED INTO THE COUNTRY.

HENCE, lying world, with all thy care, With all thy shows of good and fair,

Of beautiful or great!

Stand with thy slighted charms aloof,
Nor dare invade my peaceful roof,
Or trouble my retreat.