In sounds that seem like Sorrow's own, In all their solemn cadence sweep, She came, and passed. Can I forget, How we, whose hearts had hailed her birth, Ere three autumnal suns had set, Consigned her to her mother Earth! Joys and their memories pass away; But griefs are deeper traced than they. We laid her in her narrow cell, We heaped the soft mould on her breast, She sleeps alone, she sleeps alone; There is no marble monument, She sleeps alore, she sleeps alone; She sleeps alone, she sleeps alone; But yearly is her grave-turf dressed, And still the summer vines are thrown, The Revellers.-OHIO BACKWOODSMAN. THERE were sounds of mirth and joyousness And there was many a merry laugh, And the glass was freely passed around, A voice arose in that place of mirth, I have no fear-I have no fear- Cheer, comrades, cheer! We drink to Life, And we do not fear to die!" Just then a rushing sound was heard, As of spirits sweeping by; And presently the latch flew up, He spoke "I join in your revelry, : Bold sons of the Bacchan rite; And I drink the toast you have drank before, The pledge of yon dauntless knight. Fill high-fill high-we drink to Life, And we scorn the reaper Death; For he is a grim old gentleman, And he wars but with his breath. He's a noble soul, that champion knight, A muttered curse, and a vengeful oath- He struck-and the stranger's guise fell off, A grinning, and ghastly, and horrible thing, And they struggled awhile, till the stranger blew And the Bacchanal fell at the phantom's feet, "I would not live always."-B. B. THATCHER. EARTH is the spirit's rayless cell; But then, as a bird soars home to the shade So will its weary wing Be spread for the skies, when its toil is done O, not more sweet the tears 66 Than the dews of age on the " hoary head,” Nor dearer, mid the foam Of the far-off sea, and its stormy roar, Wings, like a dove, to fly! The spirit is faint with its feverish strife ;- When, when will Death draw nigh! The Disimbodied Spirit.-PEABODY. O SACRED star of evening, tell In what unseen, celestial sphere, Roam they the crystal fields of light, Soul of the just! and canst thou soar Amidst those radiant spheres sublime, And canst thou join the sacred choir, Through heaven's high dome the song to raise, Oh! who would heed the chilling blast, If bid to hail, its perils past, The bright wave of eternity! And who the sorrows would not bear When hope displays beyond its care, So bright an entr into bliss! Lines on hearing of the Death of Garafilia Mohalbi.— MRS. SIGOURNEY. SWEET bird of Ipsera! that fled Why was thy tarrying here so brief, Thou sheltered in affection's breast? Thy bright wing spread. Should aught detain When, echoing from the heavenly plain, • Congenial tones forbid delay? No winter check the tuneful sphere, Rise, wanderer, to thy native sky, Crossing the Ford.-O. W. H. CLOUDS, forests, hills, and waters!-and they sleep. And who are they that stir the slumbering stream? |