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When the broad orb of heaven is bright,

And looks around with golden eye ;
When Nature, softened by her light,

Seems calmly, solemnly to lie ;

Then, when our thoughts are raised above

This world, and all this world can give,
O, sister, sing the song I love,

And tears of gratitude receive.
The song which thrills my bosom's core,

And, hovering, trembles half afraid,
0, sister, sing the song once more
Which ne'er for mortal ear was made.

'Twere almost sacrilege to sing

Those notes amid the glare of day;
Notes borne by angels' purest wing,

And wafted by their breath away.

When, sleeping in my grass-grown bed,

Shouldst thou still linger here above,
Wilt thou not kneel beside my head,

And, sister, sing the song I love?

aware that it has been noticed in any periodical in this country. Southey has rendered himself distinguished for his attention to youthful genius. Except the cases of Chatterton and Henry Kirke White, he thinks there is no instance on record of “ so early, so ardent, and so fatal a pursuit of intellectual advancement, as is exhibited in the history of this young lady. “In these poems, there is enough of originality, enough of aspiration, enough of conscious energy, enough of growing power, to warrant any expectations, however sanguine, which the patron, and the friends and parents of the deceased, could have formed; nor can any person rise from the perusal of such a volume without feeling the vanity of human hopes.”

“She was peculiarly sensitive to music. There was one song (it was Moore's Farewell to his Harp) to which she took a special fancy; she wished to hear it only at twilight ; thus, with that same perilous love of excitement which made her place the windharp in the window when she was composing, seeking to increase the effect which the song produced upon a nervous system, already diseasedly susceptible ; for it is said, that, whenever she heard this song, she became cold, pale, and almost fainting; yet it was her favorite of all songs, and gave occasion to these verses, addressed, in her fifteenth year, to her sister.

“ To young readers it might be useful to observe, that these verses, in one place, approach the verge of meaning, but are on the wrong side of the line : to none can it be necessary to say, that they breathe the deep feeling of a mind essentially poetical.” The piece here referred to, is that extracted above. ED,

Hagar in the Wilderness.-N. P. WILLIS.

The morning broke. Light stole upon the clouds With a strange beauty. Earth received again Its garment of a thousand dies; and leaves, And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers, And every thing that bendeth to the dew, And stirreth with the daylight, lifted up Its beauty to the breath of that sweet morn.

All things are dark to sorrow; and the light,
And loveliness, and fragrant air were sad
To the dejected Hagar. The moist earth
Was pouring odors from its spicy pores,
And the young birds were caroling a3 life
Were a new thing to them; but, oh! it came
Upon her heart like discord, and she felt
How cruelly it tries a broken heart,
To see a mirth in any thing it loves.
She stood at Abraham's tent. Her lips were pressed
Till the blood left them; and the wandering veins
Of her transparent forehead were swelled out,
As if her pride would burst them. Her dark eye
Was clear and tearless, and the light of heaven,
Which made its language legible, shot back
From her long-lashes, as it had been flame.
Her noble boy stood by her, with his hand
Clasped in her own, and his round, delicate feet,
Scarce trained to balance on the tented floor,
Sandaled for journeying. He had looked up
Into his mother's face until he caught
The spirit there, and his young heart was swelling
Beneath his snowy bosom, and his form
Straightened up proudly in his tiny wrath,
As if his light proportions would have swelled,
Had they but matched his spirit, to the man.

Why bends the pat: iarch as he cometh now
Upon his staff so wearily? His beard
Is low upon his breast, and his high brow,
So written with the converse of his God,
Beareth the swollen vein of agony.
His lip is quivering, and his wonted step
Of vigor is not there; and, though the morn

13 passing fair and beautiful, he breathes
Its freshness as it were a pestilence.
Oh! man may bear with suffering: his heart
Is a strong thing, and godlike in the grasp
Of pain that wrings mortality; but tear
One cord affection clings to, part one tie
That binds him to a woman's delicate love,
And his great spirit yieldeth like a reed.

He gave to her the water and the bread,
But spoke no word, and trusted not himself
To look upon her face, but laid his hand,
In silent blessing, on the fair-haired boy,
And left her to her lot of loneliness.

Should Hagar weep? May slighted woman turn, And, as a vine the oak hath shaken off, Bend lightly to her tendencies again? O no! by all her loveliness, by all That makes life poetry and beauty, no! Make her a slave; steal from her rosy cheek By needless jealousies; let the last star Leave her a watcher by your couch of pain ; Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, all That makes her cup a bitterness-yet give One evidence of love, and earth has not An emblem of devotedness like hers. But, oh! estrange her once, it boots not how, By wrong or silence, any thing that tells A change has come upon your tenderness,And there is not a high thing out of heaven Her pride o’ermastereth not.

She went her way with a strong step and slow;
Her pressed lip arched, and her clear eye undimmed,
As it had been a diamond, and her form
Borne proudly up, as if her heart breathed through.
Her child kept on in silence, though she pressed
His hand till it was pained; for he had caught,
As I have said, her spirit, and the seed
Of a stern nation had been breathed upon.

The morning past, and Asia's sun rode up
In the clear heaven, and every beam was heat
The cattle of the hills were in the shade,

And the bright plumage of the Orient lay
On beating bosoms in her spicy trees.
It was an hour of rest; but Hagar found
No shelter in the wilderness, and on
She kept her weary way, until the boy
Hung down his head, and opened his parched lips
For water; but she could not give it him.
She laid him down beneath the sultry sky,-
For it was better than the close, hot breath
Of the thick pines,-and tried to comfort him;
But he was sore athirst, and his blue eyes
Were dim and bloodshot, and he could not know
Why God denied him water in the wild.
She sat a little longer, and he grew
Ghastly and faint, as if he would have died.
It was too much for her. She lifted him,
And bore him farther on, and laid his head
Beneath the shadow of a desert shrub;
And, shrouding up her face, she went away,
And sat to watch, where he could see her not,
Till he should die; and, watching him, she mourned :-
«God stay thee in thine agony, my boy;
I cannot see thee die ; I cannot brook

Upon thy brow to look,
And see death settle on my cradle joy.
How have I drunk the light of thy blue eye!

And could I see thee die ?

*I did not dream of this when thou wast straying,
Like an unbound gazelle, among the flowers ;

Or wearing rosy hours,
By the rich gush of water-sources playing,
Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleep,

So beautiful and deep.

Oh no! and when I watched by thee the while,
And saw thy bright lip curling in thy dream,

And thought of the dark stream
In my own land of Egypt, the deep Nile,
How prayed I that my father's land might be

An heritage for thee!

3 *

* And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee, And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press;

And oh! my last caress
Must feel thee cold, for a chill hand is on thee.
How can I leave my boy, so pillowed there

Upon his clustering hair!'
She stood beside the well her God had given
To gush in that deep wilderness, and bathed
The forehead of her child until he laughed
In his reviving happiness, and lisped
His infant thought of gladness at the sight
Of the cool plashing of his mother's hand.

Return of the Buccaneer.-RICHARD H. DANA.
WITHin our bay, one stormy night,
The isle's men saw boats make for shore,
With here and there a dancing light

That flashed on man and oar. When hailed, the rowing stopt, and all was dark. “ Ha! lantern work! We'll home! They're playing

shark!”

Next day, at noon, towards the town,
All stared and wondered much to see
Matt and his men come strolling down.

The boys shout, “ Here comes Lee!”
Thy ship, good Lee?!! “ Not many leagues from shore
Our ship by chance took fire.”—They learnt no more.

He and his crew were flush of gold.
“.You did not lose your cargo, then?"
Learn where all's fairly bought and sold.”

Heaven prospers those true men.
Forsake your evil ways, as we forsook
Our ways of sin, and honest courses took !

“ Wouldst see my log-book ? Fairly writ,
With pen of steel, and ink like blood !
How lightly doth the conscience sit!
Learn, truth's the only good.”

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