LINES ON THE DEATH OF M. S. C.

I KNEW that we must part-day after day, I saw the dread Destroyer win his way; That hollow cough first rang the fatal knell, As on my ear its prophet-warning fell; Feeble and slow thy once light footstep grew, Thy wasting cheek put on death's pallid hue, Thy thin, hot hand to mine more weakly clung, Each sweet " Good night" fell fainter from thy tongue;

I knew that we must part-no power could save Thy quiet goodness from an early grave;

Those eyes so dull, though kind each glance they

cast,

Looking a sister's fondness to the last;

Thy lips so pale, that gently press'd my cheek,
Thy voice-alas! thou couldst but try to speak;—
All told thy doom; I felt it at my heart;

The shaft had struck-I knew that we must part.
And we have parted, MARY-thou art gone!
Gone in thine innocence, meek, suffering one.
Thy weary spirit breathed itself to sleep
So peacefully, it seem'd a sin to weep,
In those fond watchers who around thee stood,
And felt, even then, that God, even then, was good.
Like stars that struggle through the clouds of
night,

Thine eyes one moment caught a glorious light,
As if to thee, in that dread hour, 't were given
To know on earth what faith believes of heaven;
Then like tired breezes didst thou sink to rest,
Nor one, one pang the awful change confess'd.
Death stole in softness o'er that lovely face,
And touch'd each feature with a new-born grace;
On cheek and brow unearthly beauty lay,
And told that life's poor cares had pass'd away.
In my last hour be Heaven so kind to me!
I ask no more than this-to die like thee.

But we have parted, MARY-thou art dead!
On its last resting-place I laid thy head,
Then by thy coffin-side knelt down, and took
A brother's farewell kiss and farewell look;
Those marble lips no kindred kiss return'd;
From those veil'd orbs no glance responsive burn'd;
Ah! then I felt that thou hadst pass'd away,
That the sweet face I gazed on was but clay;
And then came Memory, with her busy throng
Of tender images, forgotten long;

Years hurried back, and as they swiftly roll'd,
I saw thee, heard thee, as in days of old;
Sad and more sad each sacred feeling grew;
Manhood was moved, and Sorrow claim'd her due;
Thick, thick and fast the burning tear-drops started;
I turn'd away-and felt that we had parted.—
But not forever-in the silent tomb,
Where thou art laid, thy kindred shall find room;
A little while, a few short years of pain,
And, one by one, we'll come to thee again;
The kind old father shall seek out the place,
And rest with thee, the youngest of his race;
The dear, dear mother, bent with age and grief,
Shall lay her head by thine, in sweet relief;

Sister and brother, and that faithful friend,
True from the first, and tender to the end,-
All, all, in His good time, who placed us here,
To live, to love, to die, and disappear,
Shall come and make their quiet bed with thee,
Beneath the shadow of that spreading tree;
With thee to sleep through death's long, dream-
less night,

With thee rise up and bless the morning light.

THE FAMILY MEETING.*

WE are all here! Father, mother, Sister, brother,

All who hold each other dear.
Each chair is fill'd-we're all at home;
To-night let no cold stranger come:

It is not often thus around

Our old familiar hearth we're found:
Bless, then, the meeting and the spot;
For once be every care forgot;
Let gentle Peace assert her power,
And kind Affection rule the hour;
We're all-all here.

We're not all here!

Some are away-the dead ones dear,
Who throng'd with us this ancient hearth,
And gave the hour to guiltless mirth.
Fate, with a stern, relentless hand,
Look'd in and thinn'd our little band:
Some like a night-flash pass'd away,
And some sank, lingering, day by day;
The quiet graveyard-some lie there-
And cruel Ocean has his share-
We're not all here.

We are all here!

Even they-the dead-though dead, so dear;
Fond Memory, to her duty true,
Brings back their faded forms to view.
How life-like, through the mist of years,
Each well-remember'd face appears!
We see them as in times long past;
From each to each kind looks are cast;
We hear their words, their smiles behold;
They're round us as they were of old-
We are all here.

We are all here! Father, mother, Sister, brother,

You that I love with love so dear.
This may not long of us be said;
Soon must we join the gather'd dead;
And by the hearth we now sit round,
Some other circle will be found.
O! then, that wisdom may we know,
Which yields a life of peace below!
So, in the world to follow this,
May each repeat, in words of bliss,
We're all-all here!

*Written on the accidental meeting of all the surviving members of a family.

Here industry to comfort led;
Her book of light here learning spread;
Here the warm heart of youth
Was woo'd to temperance and to truth;
Here hoary age was found,

By wisdom and by reverence crown'd.
No great but guilty fame

Here kindled pride, that should have kindled shame;
These chose the better, happier part,
That pour'd its sunlight o'er the heart,

That crown'd their homes with peace and health, And weigh'd Heaven's smile beyond earth's wealth;

Far from the thorny paths of strife They stood, a living lesson to their race,

Rich in the charities of life,

Man in his strength, and woman in her grace; In purity and truth their pilgrim path they trod, And when they served their neighbour, felt they served their GOD."

ΧΧΙΧ.

This may not wake the poet's verse, This souls of fire may ne'er rehearse In crowd-delighting voice;

Yet o'er the record shall the patriot bend, His quiet praise the moralist shall lend, And all the good rejoice.

ΧΧΧ.

This be our story, then, in that far day,
When others come their kindred debt to pay.
In that far day?-O, what shall be,
In this dominion of the free,

When we and ours have render'd up our trust,
And men unborn shall tread above our dust?
O, what shall be?-He, He alone
The dread response can make,
Who sitteth on the only throne

That time shall never shake:
Before whose all-beholding eyes
Ages sweep on, and empires sink and rise.
Then let the song, to Him begun,

To Him in reverence end;
Look down in love, Eternal One,
And Thy good cause defend;

Here, late and long, put forth thy hand,
To guard and guide the Pilgrim's land.

LINES TO A YOUNG MOTHER.

YOUNG mother! what can feeble friendship say, To soothe the anguish of this mournful day? They, they alone, whose hearts like thine have bled, Know how the living sorrow for the dead; Each tutor'd voice, that seeks such grief to cheer, Strikes cold upon the weeping parent's ear; I've felt it all-alas! too well I know How vain all earthly power to hush thy wo! GoD cheer thee, childless mother! 'tis not given For man to ward the blow that falls from heaven.

LINES ON THE DEATH OF M. S. C.

I KNEW that we must part-day after day, I saw the dread Destroyer win his way; That hollow cough first rang the fatal knell, As on my ear its prophet-warning fell; Feeble and slow thy once light footstep grew, Thy wasting cheek put on death's pallid hue, Thy thin, hot hand to mine more weakly clung, Each sweet " Good night" fell fainter from thy tongue;

I knew that we must part-no power could save Thy quiet goodness from an early grave;

Those eyes so dull, though kind each glance they

cast,

Looking a sister's fondness to the last;

Thy lips so pale, that gently press'd my cheek,
Thy voice-alas! thou couldst but try to speak;—
All told thy doom; I felt it at my heart;

The shaft had struck-I knew that we must part.
And we have parted, MARY-thou art gone!
Gone in thine innocence, meek, suffering one.
Thy weary spirit breathed itself to sleep
So peacefully, it seem'd a sin to weep,
In those fond watchers who around thee stood,
And felt, even then, that Gon, even then, was good.
Like stars that struggle through the clouds of
night,

Thine eyes one moment caught a glorious light,
As if to thee, in that dread hour, 't were given
To know on earth what faith believes of heaven;
Then like tired breezes didst thou sink to rest,
Nor one, one pang the awful change confess'd.
Death stole in softness o'er that lovely face,
And touch'd each feature with a new-born grace;
On cheek and brow unearthly beauty lay,
And told that life's poor cares had pass'd away.
In my last hour be Heaven so kind to me!
I ask no more than this-to die like thee.

But we have parted, MARY-thou art dead!
On its last resting-place I laid thy head,
Then by thy coffin-side knelt down, and took
A brother's farewell kiss and farewell look;
Those marble lips no kindred kiss return'd;
From those veil'd orbs no glance responsive burn'd;
Ah! then I felt that thou hadst pass'd away,
That the sweet face I gazed on was but clay;
And then came Memory, with her busy throng
Of tender images, forgotten long;

Years hurried back, and as they swiftly roll'd,
I saw thee, heard thee, as in days of old;
Sad and more sad each sacred feeling grew;
Manhood was moved, and Sorrow claim'd her due;
Thick, thick and fast the burning tear-drops started;
I turn'd away-and felt that we had parted.—
But not forever-in the silent tomb,
Where thou art laid, thy kindred shall find room;
A little while, a few short years of pain,
And, one by one, we'll come to thee again;
The kind old father shall seek out the place,
And rest with thee, the youngest of his race;
The dear, dear mother, bent with age and grief,
Shall lay her head by thine, in sweet relief;

MISS GOULD is a native of Lancaster, in Vermont, and was born, I believe, in 1792. Her father, who was a soldier in the revolutionary army, one of the "noble few" who fought at Lexington,-removed, during her youth, to Newburyport, near Boston; and the greater portion of her life has been passed in that pleasant town. She began to write about twenty years ago, and her poems have appeared in various periodicals

since that time. They have also been collected and published in three duodecimo volumes.

Among American poets of the second class, Miss GOULD has a high rank. Without much force of imagination, delicacy of fancy, or affluence of language, she has acquired popularity by the purity of her thoughts, and the deep moral and religious feeling she infuses into her compositions.

CHANGES ON THE DEEP.

A GALLANT ship! and trim and tight,
Across the deep she speeds away,
While mantled with the golden light

The sun throws back, at close of day.
And who, that sees that stately ship
Her haughty stem in ocean dip,
Has ever seen a prouder one
Illumined by a setting sun?

The breath of summer, sweet and soft,
Her canvass swells, while, wide and fair,
And floating from her mast aloft,

Her flag plays off on gentle air.
And, as her steady prow divides
The waters to her even sides,
She passes, like a bird, between
The peaceful deep and sky serene.
And now grave twilight's tender veil

The moon, with shafts of silver, rends; And down on billow, deck, and sail

Her placid lustre gently sends. The stars, as if the arch of blue Were pierced to let the glory through, From their bright world look out and win The thoughts of man to enter in.

And many a heart that's warm and true

That noble ship bears on with pride;
While mid the many forms, are two

Of passing beauty, side by side.
A fair young mother standing by
Her bosom's lord, has fix'd her eye,
With his, upon the blessed star
That points them to their home afar.

Their thoughts fly forth to those, who there
Are waiting now, with joy to hail
The moment that shall grant their prayer,

And heave in sight their coming sail.
For, many a time the changeful queen
Of night has vanish'd, and been seen,
Since, o'er a foreign shore to roam,
They passed from that dear, native home.

The babe, that on its father's breast
Has let its little eyelids close,
The mother bears below to rest,

And sinks with it in sweet repose.
The while a sailor climbs the shroud,
And in the distance spies a cloud:
Low, like a swelling seed, it lies,
From which the towering storm shall rise.

The powers of air are now about

To muster from their hidden caves; The winds, unchain'd, come rushing out, And into mountains heap the waves. Upon the sky the darkness spreads! The tempest on the ocean treads; And yawning caverns are its track Amid the waters wild and black.

Its voice-but who shall give the sounds
Of that dread voice?-The ship is dash'd
In roaring depths-and now, she bounds
On high, by foaming surges lash'd.
And how is she the storm to bide?
Its sweeping wings are strong and wide!
The hand of man has lost control
O'er her!-his work is for the soul!

She's in a scene of nature's war:

The winds and waters are at strife;
And both with her contending for

The brittle thread of human life
That she contains; while sail and shroud
Have yielded; and her head is bow'd.
Then, who that slender thread shall keep,
But He, whose finger moves the deep?

A moment—and the angry blast

Has done its work and hurried on. With parted cables, shiver'd mast;

With riven sides, and anchor gone,
Behold the ship in ruin lie;

While from the waves a piercing cry
Surmounts the tumult high and wild,
And shouts to heaven, "My child! my
child!"