A PARALLEL. THE waves that on the sparkling sand The summer winds, which wandering sigh So gently as they murmur by, Scarce lift the drooping flower. Thus worldly cares, though lightly borne, And spirits, which their bonds would spurn, The blighting traces find. Till alter'd thoughts and hearts grown cold The change of passing years unfold. LAKE GEORGE. NoT in the banner'd castle, Beside the gilded throne, On fields where knightly ranks have strode, The spirit of the stately mien, Gray piles and moss-grown cloisters Breathes from the woods and sky, Proudlier these rocks and waters speak Here nature built her ancient realm Here shines the sun of Freedom Where Freedom's heroes by the shore In peaceful glory sleep; And deeds of high and proud emprize The everlasting tribute To hearts that now are cold. Farewell, then, scenes so lovely! Or morning on these glad, green isles In trembling splendour glows-A holier spell than beauty Hallows your pure repose! TO THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. BIRD of the lone and joyless night, Whence is thy sad and solemn lay? Attendant on the pale moon's light, Why shun the garish blaze of day? When darkness fills the dewy air, Nor sounds the song of happier bird, Alone, amid the silence, there Thy wild and plaintive note is heard. Thyself unseen, thy pensive moan Pour'd in no living comrade's ear, The forest's shaded depths alone Thy mournful melody can hear. Beside what still and secret spring, In what dark wood, the livelong day, Sitt'st thou, with dusk and folded wing, To while the hours of light away? Sad minstrel! thou hast learn'd, like me, That life's deceitful gleam is vain; And well the lesson profits thee, Who will not trust its charm again. Thou, unbeguiled, thy plaint dost trill To listening night, when mirth is o'er; I, heedless of the warning, still Believe, to be deceived once more. SONG. COME, fill a pledge to sorrow, And if there's sunshine in our hearts, "Twill light our theme the more. And pledge we dull life's changes, As round the swift hours passToo kind were fate, if none but gems Should sparkle in Time's glass. The dregs and foam together Unite to crown the cup And well we know the weal and wo That fill life's chalice up! Life's sickly revellers perish, The goblet scarcely drain'd; Then lightly quaff, nor lose the sweets Which may not be retain❜d. What reck we that unequal Its varying currents swell The tide that bears our pleasures down, Buries our griefs as well. And if the swift-wing'd tempest Have cross'd our changeful day, Then grieve not that naught mortal A mantling pledge to sorrow; JAMES ALDRICH. [Born, 1810.] JAMES ALDRICH was born near the Hudson, in the county of Suffolk, on the tenth of July, 1810. He received his education partly in Orange county, and partly in the city of New York, where, early in life, he became actively engaged in mercantile business. In 1836 he was married to MATILDA, daughter of Mr. JOHN B. LYON, of Newport, Rhode Island, and in the same year relinquished the occupation of a merchant. He has since devoted his attention entirely to literature; and has edited two or three popular periodicals. He resides in New York. MORN AT SEA. CLEARLY, with mental eye, Where the first slanted ray of sunlight springs, In youth's divinest glow, She stands upon a wandering cloud of dew, The child of light and air! O'er land or wave, where'er her pinions move, The shapes of earth are clothed in hues of love And truth, divinely fair. Athwart this wide abyss, On homeward way impatiently I drift; O, might she bear me now where sweet flowers lift Their eyelids to her kiss! Her smile hath overspread The heaven-reflecting sea, that evermore Is tolling solemn knells from shore to shore Most like an angel-friend, With noiseless footsteps, which no impress leave, She comes in gentleness to those who grieve, Bidding the long night end. How joyfully will hail, With reenliven❜d hearts, her presence fair, The hapless shipwreck'd, patient in despair, Watching a far-off sail. Vain all affection's arts To cheer the sick man through the night have been: How many, far from home, Have pray'd for her to come. Lone voyager on time's sea! A DEATH-BED. HER suffering ended with the day, And breathed the long, long night away, But when the sun, in all his state, Illumed the eastern skies, She pass'd through Glory's morning-gate, And walk'd in Paradise! MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. IN beauty lingers on the hills The death-smile of the dying day; I watch the river's peaceful flow, Here, standing by my mother's grave, And feel my dreams of glory go, Like weeds upon its sluggish wave. Gon gives us ministers of love, Which we regard not, being near; Death takes them from us-then we feel That angels have been with us here! As mother, sister, friend, or wife, They guide us, cheer us, soothe our pain; And when the grave has closed between Our hearts and theirs, we love-in vain! Would, mother! thou couldst hear me tell How oft, amid my brief career, For sins and follies loved too well, Hath fallen the free, repentant tear. And, in the waywardness of youth, How better thoughts have given to me Contempt for error, love for truth, Mid sweet remembrances of thee. The harvest of my youth is done, And manhood, come with all its cares, Finds, garner'd up within my heart, For every flower a thousand tares. Dear mother! couldst thou know my thoughts, Whilst bending o'er this holy shrine, The depth of feeling in my breast, Thou wouldst not blush to call me thine! A SPRING-DAY WALK. ADIEU, the city's ceaseless hum, The haunts of sensual life, adieu! With beauty, is for us to choose; And glimpses of a higher state. Our world, as at the primal day. The self-renewing earth is moved With youthful life each circling year; That God is ours and we are His; TO ONE FAR AWAY. SWIFTER far than swallow's flight, Homeward o'er the twilight lea; Swifter than the morning light, Flashing o'er the pathless sea, Dearest in the lonely night Memory flies away to thee! Stronger far than is desire; Firm as truth itself can be; Deeper than earth's central fire; Boundless as the circling sea; Yet as mute as broken lyre, Is my love, dear wife, for thee! Sweeter far than miser's gain, Or than note of fame can be Unto one who long in vain Treads the paths of chivalryAre my dreams, in which again My fond arms encircle thee! BEATRICE. UNTOUCH'D by mortal passion, Just reach'd our distant earth! Such spiritual expression As thy sweet features wear. How gladly, hand in hand, To some new world I'd fly with thee From off this mortal strand. LINES. UNDERNEATH this marble cold, Its Gon-given serenity. One, whose form of youthful grace, Near us glide sometimes on earth, Wo is me! when I recall THE DREAMING GIRL. Subdued by some unearthly charm. The amber tints that daylight gave, Upon a fainting summer-wave. Faints and glows like a dying flame; The morn peeps in with his bright eyes. Perfume loved when it is vanish'd, Pleasure hardly felt ere banish'd, Is the happy maiden's vision, That doth on her memory gleam, And her heart leaps up with gladnessThat bliss was nothing but a dream! ANNA PEYRE DINNIES. [Born about 1810.] MRS. DINNIES is a daughter of Mr. Justice SHACKLEFORD, of South Carolina. She was educated in Charleston, at a seminary kept by the daughters of Doctor RAMSAY, the historian of the Revolution. In 1830 she was married to Mr. JOHN C. DINNIES, of Saint Louis, and has since resided in that city. Mrs. HALE, in her "Ladies' Wreath," states that she became engaged in a literary correspondence with Mr. DINNIES more than four years before their union, and that they never met until one week before the solemnization of their marriage. "The contract was made long before, solely from sympathy and congeniality of mind and taste; and that in their estimate of each other they were not disappointed, may be inferred from the tone of her songs; for the domestic happiness that these portray can exist only where both are happy." The poetical writings of Mrs. DINNIES were originally published in various literary miscellanies, under the signature of "Moina." WEDDED LOVE. COME, rouse thee, dearest!-'tis not well Thus darkly o'er the cares that swell As brooks, and torrents, rivers, all Strange thou shouldst be thus shaken! I would not see thee bend below Full well I know the generous soul Which warms thee into life, For deem'st thou she had stoop'd to bind TO A WHITE CRYSANTHEMUM. WRITTEN IN DECEMBER. FAIR gift of friendship! and her ever bright Life's dreariest scenes, its rudest storm derides, And floats as calmly on o'er troubled waves, As where the peaceful streamlet smoothly glides; Thou'rt blooming now as beautiful and clear As other blossoms bloom, when spring is here. Symbol of hope, still banishing the gloom Hung o'er the mind by stern December's reign! Thou cheer'st the fancy by thy steady bloom With thoughts of summer and the fertile plain, Calling a thousand visions into play, Of beauty redolent-and bright as May! Type of a true and holy love; the same Through every scene that crowds life's varied Mid grief, mid gladness-spell of every dream, Tender in youth, and strong in feeble age! The peerless picture of a modest wife, Thou bloom'st the fairest midst the frosts of life. THOUGHTS IN AUTUMN. [page; YES, thou art welcome, Autumn! all thy changes, And faded garlands that adorn thy bowers; Each blighted shrub, chill'd flower, or sear'd leaf breathes Of parted days, and brighter by-gone hours, Contrasting with the present dreary scene [been. Spring's budding beauties, pleasures which have 2 K 385 THE WIFE. I COULD have stemm'd misfortune's tide, I could have smiled on every blow From life's full quiver thrown, I could-I think I could have brook'd, With less of love than now; The sweet hope still my own To win thee back, and, whilst I dwelt But thus to see, from day to day, Thy brightening eye and cheek, And watch thy life-sands waste away, Unnumber'd, slowly, meek; To meet thy smiles of tenderness, Of kindness, ever breathed to bless, To mark thy strength each hour decay, I could not live "alone!" THE HEART. THERE was a time when Fancy, uninvoked, Of wild or fair, in Nature's boundless hoard; A change is over all-a change in me As Lethe's streams o'er fancy's source are pour'd. This change I mourn, and seek again the dreams Which brighten'd, soothed, and gladden'd life of yore; But shaded groves, fresh flowers, and purling streams Exert their influence o'er my mind no more. No more I dream--for Fancy has grown old, And thought is busied now with sterner things: E'en feeling's self--yet, no! I am not cold; But feeling now round other objects clings. There are, in life, realities as dear, Nay, dearer far than fancy can create, Though taste may vary, beauty disappear, That linger still, defying time and fate. The flush of youth soon passes from the face, The spells of fancy from the mind depart, The form may lose its symmetry and graceBut time can claim no victory o'er the heart. SONG. I COULD not hush that constant theme For every day and nightly dream I could not bid those visions spring For each wild phantom which they bring, But pictures thee. I could not stem the vital source Compell'd to check its whelming force, I could not, dearest, thus control Which bids each new sensation roll, HAPPINESS. THERE is a spell in every flower, That sports along the glade; There's gladness, too, in every thing, For everywhere comes on, with spring, And gratitude is there, That He, who might my life destroy, Has yet vouchsafed to spare. The friends I once condemn'd are now Affectionate and true: I wept a pledged one's broken vowBut he proves faithful too. And now there is a happiness In every thing I see, Which bids my soul rise up and bless The Gon who blesses me. |