« PreviousContinue »
A Picture. Far up the porch, there grew an Eastern rose, That, flowering high, the last night's gale had
caught, And blown across the walk. One arm aloftGown'd in pure white, that fitted to the shapeHolding the bush, to fix it back, she stood. A single stream of all her soft brown hair Pour'd on one side: the shadow of the flowers Stole all the golden gloss, and, wavering Lovingly lower, trembled on her waistAh, happy shade—and still went wavering
down. But, ere it touch'd a foot, that might have
danced The greensward into greener circles, dipt, And mix'd with shadows of the common
ground! But the full day dwelt on her brows, and sunn'd "Her violet eyes, and all her Hebe-bloom, And doubled his own warmth against her lips, And on the bounteous wave of such a breast As never pencil drew. Half light, half shade, She stood, a sight to make an old man young.
Who hath heard from summer trees,
The sweet wild song of summer birds, When morning to the far-off breeze
Whispers her bidding words ;
Or listened to the bird of night,
The minstrel of the starlight hours, Companion of the fire-fly's flight,
Cool dews, and closed hours;
But deemed that spirits of the air,
Had left their native homes in heaven, And that the music warbled there
To earth a while was given?
For with that music came the thought
That life's young purity was theirs, And love, all artless and untaught, Breathed in their woodland airs.
HALLECK. The Mother's Love.
WHEN the mournful Jewish mother
Laid her infant down to rest, In doubt, and fear, and sorrow,
On the water's changeful breast; She knew not what the future
Should bring the sorely-tried: That the Prophet of her nation,
Was the babe she sought to hide.
No! in terror wildly flying,
She hurried on her path ;
Of woman's helpless wrath :
When we seek to shield from ill Those feeble little creatures
Who seem more helpless still!
Ah! no doubt, in such an hour,
Her thoughts were harsh and wild; The fiercer burned her spirit,
The more she loved her child;
No doubt a frenzied anger
Was mingled with her fear, When that prayer arose for justice
Which God hath sworn to hear.
He heard it! From his Heaven,
In its blue and boundless scope,
And that fragile ark of hope;
Her weeping eyes of love,
His angels watched above !
She was spared the bitter sorrow
Of her young child's early death, Or the doubt where he was carried
To draw his distant breath; She was called his life to nourish
From the well-springs of her heart, God's mercy re-1
ting Those whom man had forced apart!
Hon. Mrs. NORTON. The Human Weart.
The human heart! 'tis a thing that lives
In the light of many a shrine ;
Too oft on brows that are false to shine:
To shadow o'er its springs, And the One above alone may know The changing tune of its thousand strings.
MRS. L. P. SMITH.
Woman's eye, In court or cottage, wheresoe'er her home, Hath a heart-spell too holy and too high To be o’erpraised even by her worshipperPoesy.