YEwelcome clouds! what praises have ye won!Host after host ye ever thronging come,Careering on athwart the ethereal dome,To tell of tempests past or hastening on.With magic hues ye often deck the sky,Enamelling it with red and purple, gold;Like molten silver oft ye are unrolled,And oft changed into palaces, ye lie.The rainbow oft is pictured on your breast,To tell of peace and plenty ye do bring;Hail, snow, ye bear oft 'neath your ebon wing,And tempests in your blackest mantle rest.The thirsty earth ye wet with freshening showers,Floods flowing from ye speak your desolating powers.
YEwelcome clouds! what praises have ye won!Host after host ye ever thronging come,Careering on athwart the ethereal dome,To tell of tempests past or hastening on.With magic hues ye often deck the sky,Enamelling it with red and purple, gold;Like molten silver oft ye are unrolled,And oft changed into palaces, ye lie.The rainbow oft is pictured on your breast,To tell of peace and plenty ye do bring;Hail, snow, ye bear oft 'neath your ebon wing,And tempests in your blackest mantle rest.The thirsty earth ye wet with freshening showers,Floods flowing from ye speak your desolating powers.
YEwelcome clouds! what praises have ye won!Host after host ye ever thronging come,Careering on athwart the ethereal dome,To tell of tempests past or hastening on.With magic hues ye often deck the sky,Enamelling it with red and purple, gold;Like molten silver oft ye are unrolled,And oft changed into palaces, ye lie.The rainbow oft is pictured on your breast,To tell of peace and plenty ye do bring;Hail, snow, ye bear oft 'neath your ebon wing,And tempests in your blackest mantle rest.The thirsty earth ye wet with freshening showers,Floods flowing from ye speak your desolating powers.
YEwelcome clouds! what praises have ye won!
Host after host ye ever thronging come,
Careering on athwart the ethereal dome,
To tell of tempests past or hastening on.
With magic hues ye often deck the sky,
Enamelling it with red and purple, gold;
Like molten silver oft ye are unrolled,
And oft changed into palaces, ye lie.
The rainbow oft is pictured on your breast,
To tell of peace and plenty ye do bring;
Hail, snow, ye bear oft 'neath your ebon wing,
And tempests in your blackest mantle rest.
The thirsty earth ye wet with freshening showers,
Floods flowing from ye speak your desolating powers.
BY CORNELIA M. DOWLING.
OH! do you not remember, love,The sunny morn when we were plighted?Your eye was bright in loving light,And dancing like a star benighted.That eye is dim and sunken now,But still around it love reposes;And bright the smile upon your cheek,Though withered long are all its roses.Oh! my Willie Maylie dear,My true, my noble Willie Maylie,Years have rolled,And we are old,Butstill together, Willie Maylie!And do you not remember, love,The baby bright we used to cherish,Not dreaming that so fair a budMight early fade away and perish?Oh! sad it seemed to lay the formSo bright upon an earthy pillow;Now, she is softly sleeping, love,Alone, beneath the drooping willow!Oh! my Willie Maylie dear,My loving, earnest Willie Maylie,Roses bloomUpon the tombOf her we loved, my Willie Maylie!And do you not remember, love,That we have journeyed long together,The heart-light ever gilding o'erThe path of life in wintry weather?We've almost crossed the ocean now,Still breasting every billow gayly;We soon shall reach the heavenly shore,And rest together, Willie Maylie!Oh! my Willie Maylie dear,My own true-hearted Willie Maylie,Heart to heart,And ne'er to part,We'll rest together, Willie Maylie!
OH! do you not remember, love,The sunny morn when we were plighted?Your eye was bright in loving light,And dancing like a star benighted.That eye is dim and sunken now,But still around it love reposes;And bright the smile upon your cheek,Though withered long are all its roses.Oh! my Willie Maylie dear,My true, my noble Willie Maylie,Years have rolled,And we are old,Butstill together, Willie Maylie!And do you not remember, love,The baby bright we used to cherish,Not dreaming that so fair a budMight early fade away and perish?Oh! sad it seemed to lay the formSo bright upon an earthy pillow;Now, she is softly sleeping, love,Alone, beneath the drooping willow!Oh! my Willie Maylie dear,My loving, earnest Willie Maylie,Roses bloomUpon the tombOf her we loved, my Willie Maylie!And do you not remember, love,That we have journeyed long together,The heart-light ever gilding o'erThe path of life in wintry weather?We've almost crossed the ocean now,Still breasting every billow gayly;We soon shall reach the heavenly shore,And rest together, Willie Maylie!Oh! my Willie Maylie dear,My own true-hearted Willie Maylie,Heart to heart,And ne'er to part,We'll rest together, Willie Maylie!
OH! do you not remember, love,The sunny morn when we were plighted?Your eye was bright in loving light,And dancing like a star benighted.That eye is dim and sunken now,But still around it love reposes;And bright the smile upon your cheek,Though withered long are all its roses.Oh! my Willie Maylie dear,My true, my noble Willie Maylie,Years have rolled,And we are old,Butstill together, Willie Maylie!
OH! do you not remember, love,
The sunny morn when we were plighted?
Your eye was bright in loving light,
And dancing like a star benighted.
That eye is dim and sunken now,
But still around it love reposes;
And bright the smile upon your cheek,
Though withered long are all its roses.
Oh! my Willie Maylie dear,
My true, my noble Willie Maylie,
Years have rolled,
And we are old,
Butstill together, Willie Maylie!
And do you not remember, love,The baby bright we used to cherish,Not dreaming that so fair a budMight early fade away and perish?Oh! sad it seemed to lay the formSo bright upon an earthy pillow;Now, she is softly sleeping, love,Alone, beneath the drooping willow!Oh! my Willie Maylie dear,My loving, earnest Willie Maylie,Roses bloomUpon the tombOf her we loved, my Willie Maylie!
And do you not remember, love,
The baby bright we used to cherish,
Not dreaming that so fair a bud
Might early fade away and perish?
Oh! sad it seemed to lay the form
So bright upon an earthy pillow;
Now, she is softly sleeping, love,
Alone, beneath the drooping willow!
Oh! my Willie Maylie dear,
My loving, earnest Willie Maylie,
Roses bloom
Upon the tomb
Of her we loved, my Willie Maylie!
And do you not remember, love,That we have journeyed long together,The heart-light ever gilding o'erThe path of life in wintry weather?We've almost crossed the ocean now,Still breasting every billow gayly;We soon shall reach the heavenly shore,And rest together, Willie Maylie!Oh! my Willie Maylie dear,My own true-hearted Willie Maylie,Heart to heart,And ne'er to part,We'll rest together, Willie Maylie!
And do you not remember, love,
That we have journeyed long together,
The heart-light ever gilding o'er
The path of life in wintry weather?
We've almost crossed the ocean now,
Still breasting every billow gayly;
We soon shall reach the heavenly shore,
And rest together, Willie Maylie!
Oh! my Willie Maylie dear,
My own true-hearted Willie Maylie,
Heart to heart,
And ne'er to part,
We'll rest together, Willie Maylie!
BY JENNIE DOWLING DE WITT.
THElight of other days, my love,Is o'er my vision softly stealing;The music of thy bridal vows,Like harp-notes, up the past is pealing.But lip, nor eye, nor sunny brow,Nor cheek with witching dimples lighted,Were half so dear to me as now,When years have proved the love we plighted.Oh! my Ellie Maylie dear,My ever-winning Ellie Maylie,Love like thineTo hearts like mineIs air and sunlight, Ellie Maylie.Down Youth's bright tide, our shallop lightWent floating on through banks of flowers;But riper years brought clouds and night,For Life must have bothsunandshowersWellmightthy Willie brave the storm,And "breast the adverse billow gayly;"For what were Youth and Flowers to Love,Or all the world to Ellie MaylieOh! my Ellie Maylie dear,My artless, clinging Ellie Maylie,Breath to being,Eye to seeing,Wert thou to me, my Ellie Maylie.Not where above a little graveThe early summer buds are springing,Where willows in the sunlight wave,Not there—not there my heart is clinging;Butthere, amid those deathless flowers,That up from Heav'n's pure soil are springing,Where waits that angel-babe of ours,'Tis there—'tis there my heart is clinging!Oh! my Ellie Maylie dear,My gentle, trusting Ellie Maylie,Lulled to restOn Jesus' breast,We'll meet in Heav'n, my Ellie Maylie!
THElight of other days, my love,Is o'er my vision softly stealing;The music of thy bridal vows,Like harp-notes, up the past is pealing.But lip, nor eye, nor sunny brow,Nor cheek with witching dimples lighted,Were half so dear to me as now,When years have proved the love we plighted.Oh! my Ellie Maylie dear,My ever-winning Ellie Maylie,Love like thineTo hearts like mineIs air and sunlight, Ellie Maylie.Down Youth's bright tide, our shallop lightWent floating on through banks of flowers;But riper years brought clouds and night,For Life must have bothsunandshowersWellmightthy Willie brave the storm,And "breast the adverse billow gayly;"For what were Youth and Flowers to Love,Or all the world to Ellie MaylieOh! my Ellie Maylie dear,My artless, clinging Ellie Maylie,Breath to being,Eye to seeing,Wert thou to me, my Ellie Maylie.Not where above a little graveThe early summer buds are springing,Where willows in the sunlight wave,Not there—not there my heart is clinging;Butthere, amid those deathless flowers,That up from Heav'n's pure soil are springing,Where waits that angel-babe of ours,'Tis there—'tis there my heart is clinging!Oh! my Ellie Maylie dear,My gentle, trusting Ellie Maylie,Lulled to restOn Jesus' breast,We'll meet in Heav'n, my Ellie Maylie!
THElight of other days, my love,Is o'er my vision softly stealing;The music of thy bridal vows,Like harp-notes, up the past is pealing.But lip, nor eye, nor sunny brow,Nor cheek with witching dimples lighted,Were half so dear to me as now,When years have proved the love we plighted.Oh! my Ellie Maylie dear,My ever-winning Ellie Maylie,Love like thineTo hearts like mineIs air and sunlight, Ellie Maylie.
THElight of other days, my love,
Is o'er my vision softly stealing;
The music of thy bridal vows,
Like harp-notes, up the past is pealing.
But lip, nor eye, nor sunny brow,
Nor cheek with witching dimples lighted,
Were half so dear to me as now,
When years have proved the love we plighted.
Oh! my Ellie Maylie dear,
My ever-winning Ellie Maylie,
Love like thine
To hearts like mine
Is air and sunlight, Ellie Maylie.
Down Youth's bright tide, our shallop lightWent floating on through banks of flowers;But riper years brought clouds and night,For Life must have bothsunandshowersWellmightthy Willie brave the storm,And "breast the adverse billow gayly;"For what were Youth and Flowers to Love,Or all the world to Ellie MaylieOh! my Ellie Maylie dear,My artless, clinging Ellie Maylie,Breath to being,Eye to seeing,Wert thou to me, my Ellie Maylie.
Down Youth's bright tide, our shallop light
Went floating on through banks of flowers;
But riper years brought clouds and night,
For Life must have bothsunandshowers
Wellmightthy Willie brave the storm,
And "breast the adverse billow gayly;"
For what were Youth and Flowers to Love,
Or all the world to Ellie Maylie
Oh! my Ellie Maylie dear,
My artless, clinging Ellie Maylie,
Breath to being,
Eye to seeing,
Wert thou to me, my Ellie Maylie.
Not where above a little graveThe early summer buds are springing,Where willows in the sunlight wave,Not there—not there my heart is clinging;Butthere, amid those deathless flowers,That up from Heav'n's pure soil are springing,Where waits that angel-babe of ours,'Tis there—'tis there my heart is clinging!Oh! my Ellie Maylie dear,My gentle, trusting Ellie Maylie,Lulled to restOn Jesus' breast,We'll meet in Heav'n, my Ellie Maylie!
Not where above a little grave
The early summer buds are springing,
Where willows in the sunlight wave,
Not there—not there my heart is clinging;
Butthere, amid those deathless flowers,
That up from Heav'n's pure soil are springing,
Where waits that angel-babe of ours,
'Tis there—'tis there my heart is clinging!
Oh! my Ellie Maylie dear,
My gentle, trusting Ellie Maylie,
Lulled to rest
On Jesus' breast,
We'll meet in Heav'n, my Ellie Maylie!
BY HORACE G. BOUGHMAN.
THERE'Ssolemn music in the billowsOf the mighty, restless sea;Lively music poured from brooklets,As they gambol in their glee.There's stirring music in the gale;Soft music in the breeze;Music sweet when winged minstrelsCarol 'mid the verdant trees.There's awful music in the thunders;Lulling music in the rains;Music echoed from the forest,In a thousand living strains.There's silent music in the flowers,And in the planet's genial fires;Music grandest in the rivers,Where they tune their cat'ract lyres.There 's cheering music all around us,Thrilling music from above;And those magic tones should teach usSweeter, nobler strains of love.
THERE'Ssolemn music in the billowsOf the mighty, restless sea;Lively music poured from brooklets,As they gambol in their glee.There's stirring music in the gale;Soft music in the breeze;Music sweet when winged minstrelsCarol 'mid the verdant trees.There's awful music in the thunders;Lulling music in the rains;Music echoed from the forest,In a thousand living strains.There's silent music in the flowers,And in the planet's genial fires;Music grandest in the rivers,Where they tune their cat'ract lyres.There 's cheering music all around us,Thrilling music from above;And those magic tones should teach usSweeter, nobler strains of love.
THERE'Ssolemn music in the billowsOf the mighty, restless sea;Lively music poured from brooklets,As they gambol in their glee.
THERE'Ssolemn music in the billows
Of the mighty, restless sea;
Lively music poured from brooklets,
As they gambol in their glee.
There's stirring music in the gale;Soft music in the breeze;Music sweet when winged minstrelsCarol 'mid the verdant trees.
There's stirring music in the gale;
Soft music in the breeze;
Music sweet when winged minstrels
Carol 'mid the verdant trees.
There's awful music in the thunders;Lulling music in the rains;Music echoed from the forest,In a thousand living strains.
There's awful music in the thunders;
Lulling music in the rains;
Music echoed from the forest,
In a thousand living strains.
There's silent music in the flowers,And in the planet's genial fires;Music grandest in the rivers,Where they tune their cat'ract lyres.
There's silent music in the flowers,
And in the planet's genial fires;
Music grandest in the rivers,
Where they tune their cat'ract lyres.
There 's cheering music all around us,Thrilling music from above;And those magic tones should teach usSweeter, nobler strains of love.
There 's cheering music all around us,
Thrilling music from above;
And those magic tones should teach us
Sweeter, nobler strains of love.
BY MRS. A. F. LAW.
BEHOLD, upon Life's swelling tide,A little boat doth gently glide!Its freight a Soul; Sin guides the helm,And steers for Pleasure's baseless realm:At prow, the gay-robed Tempter stands,Obscuring, with his jewelled hands,The Spirit's view; whilst shines afarHope's radiant, butdeceivingstar;For, see,it fades, e'en as we gazing stand,And leaves that bark a wreck upon the strand!
BEHOLD, upon Life's swelling tide,A little boat doth gently glide!Its freight a Soul; Sin guides the helm,And steers for Pleasure's baseless realm:At prow, the gay-robed Tempter stands,Obscuring, with his jewelled hands,The Spirit's view; whilst shines afarHope's radiant, butdeceivingstar;For, see,it fades, e'en as we gazing stand,And leaves that bark a wreck upon the strand!
BEHOLD, upon Life's swelling tide,A little boat doth gently glide!Its freight a Soul; Sin guides the helm,And steers for Pleasure's baseless realm:At prow, the gay-robed Tempter stands,Obscuring, with his jewelled hands,The Spirit's view; whilst shines afarHope's radiant, butdeceivingstar;For, see,it fades, e'en as we gazing stand,And leaves that bark a wreck upon the strand!
BEHOLD, upon Life's swelling tide,
A little boat doth gently glide!
Its freight a Soul; Sin guides the helm,
And steers for Pleasure's baseless realm:
At prow, the gay-robed Tempter stands,
Obscuring, with his jewelled hands,
The Spirit's view; whilst shines afar
Hope's radiant, butdeceivingstar;
For, see,it fades, e'en as we gazing stand,
And leaves that bark a wreck upon the strand!
BY JARONETTE.
ON! give me some strong human will,To lull this dream of woe;It binds me with its iron chain,And will not let me go.Oh! give me strength to curb this strife,And make my spirit knowMy early days of happy life,Of days long, long ago.But now there's darkness on my path,A shadow on my heart;I each fond feeling seek to hide,Trembling in ev'ry part!They think that I'm forgetting thee;But ah! they do not seeThe coursing tears, when I'm alone,Flowing so fast and free!I list my bird's sweet matin song,Its wild and gladsome chants;But no, the dead'ning weight is here,And still my spirit pantsFor long-lost dreamy hours of joy,When thou wert by my side,And care seemed but a thing of name,Not to my life allied.Now, when the smile is on my lip,It turns that smile to tears,Stemming the life-blood of my heartWith weary weight of years.It makes the strong proud limbs refuseTo roam this gladsome earth,And sends me reeling, mad, within,From out the sounds of mirth.I pet each blossom from my shrubs,And call them by thy name;I ask them if their spirits tellThat I am still the same.A pure white rose that bloomed this mornI went this eve to take;"The spirit of the flow'r" had fled,Thecolditsheartdid break!They tell me that thou carest notFor woman's love or fame;That thou speak'stlightlyof them allThat bear the gentle name.But oh! I heed them not the while,Theyhave not read thy heart;I know you have not chang'd so muchSince we were forced to part.And though they bid me see thee not,My spirit meets thee oftIn dream-land, where the flow'rs bloom bright,The air so calm and soft.The angels then are by my side,They kiss me with thy lips,And clasp hope's rainbow round my heart,In that dream-hour of bliss.And sometimes in thy weary hoursRecall the past, and weaveThe dream of hallowed love and hopeI'll ever for thee breathe.Then wander forth amid the throng,And seek some gentle one,One that will honor thy dear name,And take herto thy home.
ON! give me some strong human will,To lull this dream of woe;It binds me with its iron chain,And will not let me go.Oh! give me strength to curb this strife,And make my spirit knowMy early days of happy life,Of days long, long ago.But now there's darkness on my path,A shadow on my heart;I each fond feeling seek to hide,Trembling in ev'ry part!They think that I'm forgetting thee;But ah! they do not seeThe coursing tears, when I'm alone,Flowing so fast and free!I list my bird's sweet matin song,Its wild and gladsome chants;But no, the dead'ning weight is here,And still my spirit pantsFor long-lost dreamy hours of joy,When thou wert by my side,And care seemed but a thing of name,Not to my life allied.Now, when the smile is on my lip,It turns that smile to tears,Stemming the life-blood of my heartWith weary weight of years.It makes the strong proud limbs refuseTo roam this gladsome earth,And sends me reeling, mad, within,From out the sounds of mirth.I pet each blossom from my shrubs,And call them by thy name;I ask them if their spirits tellThat I am still the same.A pure white rose that bloomed this mornI went this eve to take;"The spirit of the flow'r" had fled,Thecolditsheartdid break!They tell me that thou carest notFor woman's love or fame;That thou speak'stlightlyof them allThat bear the gentle name.But oh! I heed them not the while,Theyhave not read thy heart;I know you have not chang'd so muchSince we were forced to part.And though they bid me see thee not,My spirit meets thee oftIn dream-land, where the flow'rs bloom bright,The air so calm and soft.The angels then are by my side,They kiss me with thy lips,And clasp hope's rainbow round my heart,In that dream-hour of bliss.And sometimes in thy weary hoursRecall the past, and weaveThe dream of hallowed love and hopeI'll ever for thee breathe.Then wander forth amid the throng,And seek some gentle one,One that will honor thy dear name,And take herto thy home.
ON! give me some strong human will,To lull this dream of woe;It binds me with its iron chain,And will not let me go.Oh! give me strength to curb this strife,And make my spirit knowMy early days of happy life,Of days long, long ago.
ON! give me some strong human will,
To lull this dream of woe;
It binds me with its iron chain,
And will not let me go.
Oh! give me strength to curb this strife,
And make my spirit know
My early days of happy life,
Of days long, long ago.
But now there's darkness on my path,A shadow on my heart;I each fond feeling seek to hide,Trembling in ev'ry part!They think that I'm forgetting thee;But ah! they do not seeThe coursing tears, when I'm alone,Flowing so fast and free!
But now there's darkness on my path,
A shadow on my heart;
I each fond feeling seek to hide,
Trembling in ev'ry part!
They think that I'm forgetting thee;
But ah! they do not see
The coursing tears, when I'm alone,
Flowing so fast and free!
I list my bird's sweet matin song,Its wild and gladsome chants;But no, the dead'ning weight is here,And still my spirit pantsFor long-lost dreamy hours of joy,When thou wert by my side,And care seemed but a thing of name,Not to my life allied.
I list my bird's sweet matin song,
Its wild and gladsome chants;
But no, the dead'ning weight is here,
And still my spirit pants
For long-lost dreamy hours of joy,
When thou wert by my side,
And care seemed but a thing of name,
Not to my life allied.
Now, when the smile is on my lip,It turns that smile to tears,Stemming the life-blood of my heartWith weary weight of years.It makes the strong proud limbs refuseTo roam this gladsome earth,And sends me reeling, mad, within,From out the sounds of mirth.
Now, when the smile is on my lip,
It turns that smile to tears,
Stemming the life-blood of my heart
With weary weight of years.
It makes the strong proud limbs refuse
To roam this gladsome earth,
And sends me reeling, mad, within,
From out the sounds of mirth.
I pet each blossom from my shrubs,And call them by thy name;I ask them if their spirits tellThat I am still the same.A pure white rose that bloomed this mornI went this eve to take;"The spirit of the flow'r" had fled,Thecolditsheartdid break!
I pet each blossom from my shrubs,
And call them by thy name;
I ask them if their spirits tell
That I am still the same.
A pure white rose that bloomed this morn
I went this eve to take;
"The spirit of the flow'r" had fled,
Thecolditsheartdid break!
They tell me that thou carest notFor woman's love or fame;That thou speak'stlightlyof them allThat bear the gentle name.But oh! I heed them not the while,Theyhave not read thy heart;I know you have not chang'd so muchSince we were forced to part.
They tell me that thou carest not
For woman's love or fame;
That thou speak'stlightlyof them all
That bear the gentle name.
But oh! I heed them not the while,
Theyhave not read thy heart;
I know you have not chang'd so much
Since we were forced to part.
And though they bid me see thee not,My spirit meets thee oftIn dream-land, where the flow'rs bloom bright,The air so calm and soft.The angels then are by my side,They kiss me with thy lips,And clasp hope's rainbow round my heart,In that dream-hour of bliss.
And though they bid me see thee not,
My spirit meets thee oft
In dream-land, where the flow'rs bloom bright,
The air so calm and soft.
The angels then are by my side,
They kiss me with thy lips,
And clasp hope's rainbow round my heart,
In that dream-hour of bliss.
And sometimes in thy weary hoursRecall the past, and weaveThe dream of hallowed love and hopeI'll ever for thee breathe.Then wander forth amid the throng,And seek some gentle one,One that will honor thy dear name,And take herto thy home.
And sometimes in thy weary hours
Recall the past, and weave
The dream of hallowed love and hope
I'll ever for thee breathe.
Then wander forth amid the throng,
And seek some gentle one,
One that will honor thy dear name,
And take herto thy home.
BY CHARLES ALBERT JANVIER.
The following lines were suggested by a remark in Washington Irving's "Student of Salamanca," that the old alchymist died just as he was on the point of discovering the philosopher's stone.
THEwalls were sweating with a festering damp,An icy coldness filled the dreary room,A little solitary flickering lampWith sickly radiance glimmered through the gloom,While on a tattered couch an old man lay,Half-starved with hunger, weary, gaunt, and gray.His feeble eyes with ardor yet were strainedUpon a yellow parchment dull with age,As, while one lingering ray of life remained,That single ray must shine on Learning's page;And while he lay immersed in study deep,He murmured thus, as one who speaks in sleep:—"One little hour more, and all is mine!Mine the bright prize so long I've sought in vain!Mine the lost secret, which for countless timePhilosophers have labored to regain!Mine wealth, and youth, and joy, and nevermore,O Death! shall I be subject to thy power!"One hour more, and all these golden dreamsWhich still have cheered me on from day to day,Shall be no more like fleeting radiant beams,Glancing one moment bright, then snatched away;But all my visions, howe'er bright their hue,No more be false, no more be aught but true!"Ye elementary spirits, who so longWith ready wiles have baffled all my artOne hour more, and I in power strongShall see ye all in helpless rage depart!At last your devilish malice all o'erthrown,At last the great elixir all my own!"Thus spoke the alchymist; but ruthless Death,Who strikes alike the mighty and the low,And stops the monarch's and plebeian's breathWith equal haste, and with the selfsame blow,Had laid his icy hand upon his heart,While bidding him in iron tones "depart!"The lamp burnt lower, still his eye was fixedUpon the parchment, while his trembling handWithin a crucible the compound mixed,With which completed he would soon commandUnending treasure, boundless glittering wealth,The priceless draught of endless youth and health.But from his stiffening band the parchment dropped,As from his lips broke forth a hollow moan,The coursing current of his life-blood stopped,His spirit fled just as its task was done!Closing his eyes upon the lifelong strife,He left untouched the sparkling cup of Life.
THEwalls were sweating with a festering damp,An icy coldness filled the dreary room,A little solitary flickering lampWith sickly radiance glimmered through the gloom,While on a tattered couch an old man lay,Half-starved with hunger, weary, gaunt, and gray.His feeble eyes with ardor yet were strainedUpon a yellow parchment dull with age,As, while one lingering ray of life remained,That single ray must shine on Learning's page;And while he lay immersed in study deep,He murmured thus, as one who speaks in sleep:—"One little hour more, and all is mine!Mine the bright prize so long I've sought in vain!Mine the lost secret, which for countless timePhilosophers have labored to regain!Mine wealth, and youth, and joy, and nevermore,O Death! shall I be subject to thy power!"One hour more, and all these golden dreamsWhich still have cheered me on from day to day,Shall be no more like fleeting radiant beams,Glancing one moment bright, then snatched away;But all my visions, howe'er bright their hue,No more be false, no more be aught but true!"Ye elementary spirits, who so longWith ready wiles have baffled all my artOne hour more, and I in power strongShall see ye all in helpless rage depart!At last your devilish malice all o'erthrown,At last the great elixir all my own!"Thus spoke the alchymist; but ruthless Death,Who strikes alike the mighty and the low,And stops the monarch's and plebeian's breathWith equal haste, and with the selfsame blow,Had laid his icy hand upon his heart,While bidding him in iron tones "depart!"The lamp burnt lower, still his eye was fixedUpon the parchment, while his trembling handWithin a crucible the compound mixed,With which completed he would soon commandUnending treasure, boundless glittering wealth,The priceless draught of endless youth and health.But from his stiffening band the parchment dropped,As from his lips broke forth a hollow moan,The coursing current of his life-blood stopped,His spirit fled just as its task was done!Closing his eyes upon the lifelong strife,He left untouched the sparkling cup of Life.
THEwalls were sweating with a festering damp,An icy coldness filled the dreary room,A little solitary flickering lampWith sickly radiance glimmered through the gloom,While on a tattered couch an old man lay,Half-starved with hunger, weary, gaunt, and gray.
THEwalls were sweating with a festering damp,
An icy coldness filled the dreary room,
A little solitary flickering lamp
With sickly radiance glimmered through the gloom,
While on a tattered couch an old man lay,
Half-starved with hunger, weary, gaunt, and gray.
His feeble eyes with ardor yet were strainedUpon a yellow parchment dull with age,As, while one lingering ray of life remained,That single ray must shine on Learning's page;And while he lay immersed in study deep,He murmured thus, as one who speaks in sleep:—
His feeble eyes with ardor yet were strained
Upon a yellow parchment dull with age,
As, while one lingering ray of life remained,
That single ray must shine on Learning's page;
And while he lay immersed in study deep,
He murmured thus, as one who speaks in sleep:—
"One little hour more, and all is mine!Mine the bright prize so long I've sought in vain!Mine the lost secret, which for countless timePhilosophers have labored to regain!Mine wealth, and youth, and joy, and nevermore,O Death! shall I be subject to thy power!
"One little hour more, and all is mine!
Mine the bright prize so long I've sought in vain!
Mine the lost secret, which for countless time
Philosophers have labored to regain!
Mine wealth, and youth, and joy, and nevermore,
O Death! shall I be subject to thy power!
"One hour more, and all these golden dreamsWhich still have cheered me on from day to day,Shall be no more like fleeting radiant beams,Glancing one moment bright, then snatched away;But all my visions, howe'er bright their hue,No more be false, no more be aught but true!
"One hour more, and all these golden dreams
Which still have cheered me on from day to day,
Shall be no more like fleeting radiant beams,
Glancing one moment bright, then snatched away;
But all my visions, howe'er bright their hue,
No more be false, no more be aught but true!
"Ye elementary spirits, who so longWith ready wiles have baffled all my artOne hour more, and I in power strongShall see ye all in helpless rage depart!At last your devilish malice all o'erthrown,At last the great elixir all my own!"
"Ye elementary spirits, who so long
With ready wiles have baffled all my art
One hour more, and I in power strong
Shall see ye all in helpless rage depart!
At last your devilish malice all o'erthrown,
At last the great elixir all my own!"
Thus spoke the alchymist; but ruthless Death,Who strikes alike the mighty and the low,And stops the monarch's and plebeian's breathWith equal haste, and with the selfsame blow,Had laid his icy hand upon his heart,While bidding him in iron tones "depart!"
Thus spoke the alchymist; but ruthless Death,
Who strikes alike the mighty and the low,
And stops the monarch's and plebeian's breath
With equal haste, and with the selfsame blow,
Had laid his icy hand upon his heart,
While bidding him in iron tones "depart!"
The lamp burnt lower, still his eye was fixedUpon the parchment, while his trembling handWithin a crucible the compound mixed,With which completed he would soon commandUnending treasure, boundless glittering wealth,The priceless draught of endless youth and health.
The lamp burnt lower, still his eye was fixed
Upon the parchment, while his trembling hand
Within a crucible the compound mixed,
With which completed he would soon command
Unending treasure, boundless glittering wealth,
The priceless draught of endless youth and health.
But from his stiffening band the parchment dropped,As from his lips broke forth a hollow moan,The coursing current of his life-blood stopped,His spirit fled just as its task was done!Closing his eyes upon the lifelong strife,He left untouched the sparkling cup of Life.
But from his stiffening band the parchment dropped,
As from his lips broke forth a hollow moan,
The coursing current of his life-blood stopped,
His spirit fled just as its task was done!
Closing his eyes upon the lifelong strife,
He left untouched the sparkling cup of Life.
BY NORMAN W. BRIDGE.
FROMout the airy balconyOf many a sylvan cot and dome,Is poured soul-melting minstrelsy,That cheers my lonely heart and home.Around each warbler's chosen hauntAre heard sweet notes of joy and praise;From fruit-trees comes the robin's chant,And from each bush the sparrow's lays.Amid the poplar's trembling lyre,That o'er the lawn its shadow throws,Rich warblings of a linnet-choirMy soul with melody o'erflows;While from a willow waving near,And where the vine its trellis girds,Steals softly o'er the tuneful earThe symphony of yellow-birds.Upon the elm-tree's lofty boughThe oriole serenely sings,While from a puerile branch belowHis loved one in her castle swings:And in the flower-enamelled leas,Where alders grace the streamlet's brink,I hear the charming melodiesOf many a sweet-voiced bobolink.And from yon wildwood's emerald crownCome oft, in notes of heavenly tone,The hymns of thrushes, "wood," and "brown,"And warbling throats to me unknown.Bird-notes are all so rich and clear,It seems as though their vocal powersWere borrowed from some higher sphereThan this discordant world of ours.Nor is their magic gift of songThe only charm they o'er me throw;They ne'er the poor and helpless wrong,Nor swell the tide of human woe.Their voice is ne'er with slander fraught,Or friendships in misfortune change,Nor speech or deed betrayeth aughtOf av'rice, hatred, and revenge.They seek not, with malicious tongue,To stir the bosom with mistrust,By telling what 's been said and sung,How all our faults have been discussed;Till Jealousy within awakes,And Love with doubt is much annoyed,The golden clasp of Friendship breaks,And peace of families destroyed.No rival's fame they derogate,A brother falsely charge with sin,Hoping thereby to elevateTheir name above more worthy kin:They seem not e'er to envy thoseWhose brilliant plumes their own outshine,Or to rejoice at others' woesWhose powers of song are more divine.Nor have their hearts the cruel prideO'er humbler garbs and gifts to sneer;The lame, their hapless fate deride,Or o'er the weak to domineer.No bitter taunt, unfeeling jest,The boast of pow'r, wealth, rank, or birth,E'er flow from soaring warbler's breast,To wound the heart of lowly worth.Nor do they play the hypocriteWith faithful, fond, confiding friends,Looks, manners, language counterfeit,To gain ignobly selfish ends.No word or act their aim belies,Or yield they e'er to sin's control,And sell, for worldly merchandise,The jewels of a virtuous soul.
FROMout the airy balconyOf many a sylvan cot and dome,Is poured soul-melting minstrelsy,That cheers my lonely heart and home.Around each warbler's chosen hauntAre heard sweet notes of joy and praise;From fruit-trees comes the robin's chant,And from each bush the sparrow's lays.Amid the poplar's trembling lyre,That o'er the lawn its shadow throws,Rich warblings of a linnet-choirMy soul with melody o'erflows;While from a willow waving near,And where the vine its trellis girds,Steals softly o'er the tuneful earThe symphony of yellow-birds.Upon the elm-tree's lofty boughThe oriole serenely sings,While from a puerile branch belowHis loved one in her castle swings:And in the flower-enamelled leas,Where alders grace the streamlet's brink,I hear the charming melodiesOf many a sweet-voiced bobolink.And from yon wildwood's emerald crownCome oft, in notes of heavenly tone,The hymns of thrushes, "wood," and "brown,"And warbling throats to me unknown.Bird-notes are all so rich and clear,It seems as though their vocal powersWere borrowed from some higher sphereThan this discordant world of ours.Nor is their magic gift of songThe only charm they o'er me throw;They ne'er the poor and helpless wrong,Nor swell the tide of human woe.Their voice is ne'er with slander fraught,Or friendships in misfortune change,Nor speech or deed betrayeth aughtOf av'rice, hatred, and revenge.They seek not, with malicious tongue,To stir the bosom with mistrust,By telling what 's been said and sung,How all our faults have been discussed;Till Jealousy within awakes,And Love with doubt is much annoyed,The golden clasp of Friendship breaks,And peace of families destroyed.No rival's fame they derogate,A brother falsely charge with sin,Hoping thereby to elevateTheir name above more worthy kin:They seem not e'er to envy thoseWhose brilliant plumes their own outshine,Or to rejoice at others' woesWhose powers of song are more divine.Nor have their hearts the cruel prideO'er humbler garbs and gifts to sneer;The lame, their hapless fate deride,Or o'er the weak to domineer.No bitter taunt, unfeeling jest,The boast of pow'r, wealth, rank, or birth,E'er flow from soaring warbler's breast,To wound the heart of lowly worth.Nor do they play the hypocriteWith faithful, fond, confiding friends,Looks, manners, language counterfeit,To gain ignobly selfish ends.No word or act their aim belies,Or yield they e'er to sin's control,And sell, for worldly merchandise,The jewels of a virtuous soul.
FROMout the airy balconyOf many a sylvan cot and dome,Is poured soul-melting minstrelsy,That cheers my lonely heart and home.Around each warbler's chosen hauntAre heard sweet notes of joy and praise;From fruit-trees comes the robin's chant,And from each bush the sparrow's lays.
FROMout the airy balcony
Of many a sylvan cot and dome,
Is poured soul-melting minstrelsy,
That cheers my lonely heart and home.
Around each warbler's chosen haunt
Are heard sweet notes of joy and praise;
From fruit-trees comes the robin's chant,
And from each bush the sparrow's lays.
Amid the poplar's trembling lyre,That o'er the lawn its shadow throws,Rich warblings of a linnet-choirMy soul with melody o'erflows;While from a willow waving near,And where the vine its trellis girds,Steals softly o'er the tuneful earThe symphony of yellow-birds.
Amid the poplar's trembling lyre,
That o'er the lawn its shadow throws,
Rich warblings of a linnet-choir
My soul with melody o'erflows;
While from a willow waving near,
And where the vine its trellis girds,
Steals softly o'er the tuneful ear
The symphony of yellow-birds.
Upon the elm-tree's lofty boughThe oriole serenely sings,While from a puerile branch belowHis loved one in her castle swings:And in the flower-enamelled leas,Where alders grace the streamlet's brink,I hear the charming melodiesOf many a sweet-voiced bobolink.
Upon the elm-tree's lofty bough
The oriole serenely sings,
While from a puerile branch below
His loved one in her castle swings:
And in the flower-enamelled leas,
Where alders grace the streamlet's brink,
I hear the charming melodies
Of many a sweet-voiced bobolink.
And from yon wildwood's emerald crownCome oft, in notes of heavenly tone,The hymns of thrushes, "wood," and "brown,"And warbling throats to me unknown.Bird-notes are all so rich and clear,It seems as though their vocal powersWere borrowed from some higher sphereThan this discordant world of ours.
And from yon wildwood's emerald crown
Come oft, in notes of heavenly tone,
The hymns of thrushes, "wood," and "brown,"
And warbling throats to me unknown.
Bird-notes are all so rich and clear,
It seems as though their vocal powers
Were borrowed from some higher sphere
Than this discordant world of ours.
Nor is their magic gift of songThe only charm they o'er me throw;They ne'er the poor and helpless wrong,Nor swell the tide of human woe.Their voice is ne'er with slander fraught,Or friendships in misfortune change,Nor speech or deed betrayeth aughtOf av'rice, hatred, and revenge.
Nor is their magic gift of song
The only charm they o'er me throw;
They ne'er the poor and helpless wrong,
Nor swell the tide of human woe.
Their voice is ne'er with slander fraught,
Or friendships in misfortune change,
Nor speech or deed betrayeth aught
Of av'rice, hatred, and revenge.
They seek not, with malicious tongue,To stir the bosom with mistrust,By telling what 's been said and sung,How all our faults have been discussed;Till Jealousy within awakes,And Love with doubt is much annoyed,The golden clasp of Friendship breaks,And peace of families destroyed.
They seek not, with malicious tongue,
To stir the bosom with mistrust,
By telling what 's been said and sung,
How all our faults have been discussed;
Till Jealousy within awakes,
And Love with doubt is much annoyed,
The golden clasp of Friendship breaks,
And peace of families destroyed.
No rival's fame they derogate,A brother falsely charge with sin,Hoping thereby to elevateTheir name above more worthy kin:They seem not e'er to envy thoseWhose brilliant plumes their own outshine,Or to rejoice at others' woesWhose powers of song are more divine.
No rival's fame they derogate,
A brother falsely charge with sin,
Hoping thereby to elevate
Their name above more worthy kin:
They seem not e'er to envy those
Whose brilliant plumes their own outshine,
Or to rejoice at others' woes
Whose powers of song are more divine.
Nor have their hearts the cruel prideO'er humbler garbs and gifts to sneer;The lame, their hapless fate deride,Or o'er the weak to domineer.No bitter taunt, unfeeling jest,The boast of pow'r, wealth, rank, or birth,E'er flow from soaring warbler's breast,To wound the heart of lowly worth.
Nor have their hearts the cruel pride
O'er humbler garbs and gifts to sneer;
The lame, their hapless fate deride,
Or o'er the weak to domineer.
No bitter taunt, unfeeling jest,
The boast of pow'r, wealth, rank, or birth,
E'er flow from soaring warbler's breast,
To wound the heart of lowly worth.
Nor do they play the hypocriteWith faithful, fond, confiding friends,Looks, manners, language counterfeit,To gain ignobly selfish ends.No word or act their aim belies,Or yield they e'er to sin's control,And sell, for worldly merchandise,The jewels of a virtuous soul.
Nor do they play the hypocrite
With faithful, fond, confiding friends,
Looks, manners, language counterfeit,
To gain ignobly selfish ends.
No word or act their aim belies,
Or yield they e'er to sin's control,
And sell, for worldly merchandise,
The jewels of a virtuous soul.
BY MARY NEAL.
THYheart is young and light, maiden;Thy sunny brow is fair;For Love, and Joy, and Hope now weaveLife's brightest sunbeams there.Brothers and sisters turn to blessThy ever-welcome form,And a father's arm is near to shieldThee from life's lightest storm.But more, still more than this, maiden—A mother's heart is near,To watch thy fair cheek, pale or flush—To note each starting tear—To gaze upon thy happy face,And pray that thy young heartMay long be spared the bitter woeFrom cherished friends to part.Oh, Love will make fond hearts, maiden,To offer at thy shrine;And Friendship many a blooming wreathAround thy path entwine:But the tears that o'er thy restless couchFrom a mother's eyes were shed,Will moist a green spot in thy heartWhenthosebright flowers are dead!Then watch those loving eyes, maiden,That beam upon thee now;And cherish every silver hairThat stealeth o'er that brow:For a mother's love's the purest ray,The brightest day-star given,To light us o'er Life's darkened way,And lead us up to Heaven.
THYheart is young and light, maiden;Thy sunny brow is fair;For Love, and Joy, and Hope now weaveLife's brightest sunbeams there.Brothers and sisters turn to blessThy ever-welcome form,And a father's arm is near to shieldThee from life's lightest storm.But more, still more than this, maiden—A mother's heart is near,To watch thy fair cheek, pale or flush—To note each starting tear—To gaze upon thy happy face,And pray that thy young heartMay long be spared the bitter woeFrom cherished friends to part.Oh, Love will make fond hearts, maiden,To offer at thy shrine;And Friendship many a blooming wreathAround thy path entwine:But the tears that o'er thy restless couchFrom a mother's eyes were shed,Will moist a green spot in thy heartWhenthosebright flowers are dead!Then watch those loving eyes, maiden,That beam upon thee now;And cherish every silver hairThat stealeth o'er that brow:For a mother's love's the purest ray,The brightest day-star given,To light us o'er Life's darkened way,And lead us up to Heaven.
THYheart is young and light, maiden;Thy sunny brow is fair;For Love, and Joy, and Hope now weaveLife's brightest sunbeams there.Brothers and sisters turn to blessThy ever-welcome form,And a father's arm is near to shieldThee from life's lightest storm.
THYheart is young and light, maiden;
Thy sunny brow is fair;
For Love, and Joy, and Hope now weave
Life's brightest sunbeams there.
Brothers and sisters turn to bless
Thy ever-welcome form,
And a father's arm is near to shield
Thee from life's lightest storm.
But more, still more than this, maiden—A mother's heart is near,To watch thy fair cheek, pale or flush—To note each starting tear—To gaze upon thy happy face,And pray that thy young heartMay long be spared the bitter woeFrom cherished friends to part.
But more, still more than this, maiden—
A mother's heart is near,
To watch thy fair cheek, pale or flush—
To note each starting tear—
To gaze upon thy happy face,
And pray that thy young heart
May long be spared the bitter woe
From cherished friends to part.
Oh, Love will make fond hearts, maiden,To offer at thy shrine;And Friendship many a blooming wreathAround thy path entwine:But the tears that o'er thy restless couchFrom a mother's eyes were shed,Will moist a green spot in thy heartWhenthosebright flowers are dead!
Oh, Love will make fond hearts, maiden,
To offer at thy shrine;
And Friendship many a blooming wreath
Around thy path entwine:
But the tears that o'er thy restless couch
From a mother's eyes were shed,
Will moist a green spot in thy heart
Whenthosebright flowers are dead!
Then watch those loving eyes, maiden,That beam upon thee now;And cherish every silver hairThat stealeth o'er that brow:For a mother's love's the purest ray,The brightest day-star given,To light us o'er Life's darkened way,And lead us up to Heaven.
Then watch those loving eyes, maiden,
That beam upon thee now;
And cherish every silver hair
That stealeth o'er that brow:
For a mother's love's the purest ray,
The brightest day-star given,
To light us o'er Life's darkened way,
And lead us up to Heaven.
BY FANNIE M. C.
OH, where art thou, beloved one, at this hour,So meet for fond affection's holy power,For all the tender memories that willThe lonely bosoms of the absent fill?Far, far away! Yet as my tearful eyeDwells on yon little watchfire in the sky,This thought comes stealing on its beam of light,Our hearts shall meet at Mercy's throne to-night!
OH, where art thou, beloved one, at this hour,So meet for fond affection's holy power,For all the tender memories that willThe lonely bosoms of the absent fill?Far, far away! Yet as my tearful eyeDwells on yon little watchfire in the sky,This thought comes stealing on its beam of light,Our hearts shall meet at Mercy's throne to-night!
OH, where art thou, beloved one, at this hour,So meet for fond affection's holy power,For all the tender memories that willThe lonely bosoms of the absent fill?
OH, where art thou, beloved one, at this hour,
So meet for fond affection's holy power,
For all the tender memories that will
The lonely bosoms of the absent fill?
Far, far away! Yet as my tearful eyeDwells on yon little watchfire in the sky,This thought comes stealing on its beam of light,Our hearts shall meet at Mercy's throne to-night!
Far, far away! Yet as my tearful eye
Dwells on yon little watchfire in the sky,
This thought comes stealing on its beam of light,
Our hearts shall meet at Mercy's throne to-night!
BY HORACE PHELPS, M. D.
THEgale is fresh upon my brow,The evening dew my cheek has wet,The bark moves merrily, and nowThe moonlight and the wave have met;The mountain heights their shadows throw,In dark and frowning majesty,Upon the rolling waters' flow,As sorrows cross young memory:What wants this scene to be divine?Thy gentle heart to beat with mine.The lover's star her watch doth keepIn the blue vault of yonder sky;While all around is hushed to sleep,I deem thy angel spirit nigh;'Twere rapture never felt beforeIn this serene and midnight noon,To hear from yonder lonely shoreThe watch-dog bay the full bright moon,Couldst thou be here to share this hourMy heart's beloved and buried flower.There is a spirit rides the air;I hear its murmur on the stream,I see its form of beauty fairDisporting in the moonlight beamIt is the spirit of delightOf young affection's ecstasy,And in its form and features brightThine own fair face and form I see:It hovers o'er my head, and nowI feel its hand upon my brow.I see the light of feeling playAnd sparkle in its winning smile,To chase my brooding cares away,And all my sorrows to beguile;I hear the voice I loved to hearMix with the music of the stream;The well-known accents strike my ear:Away! 'tis fancy's wildest dream:I am alone beneath the star,And thou art in thy grave afar!
THEgale is fresh upon my brow,The evening dew my cheek has wet,The bark moves merrily, and nowThe moonlight and the wave have met;The mountain heights their shadows throw,In dark and frowning majesty,Upon the rolling waters' flow,As sorrows cross young memory:What wants this scene to be divine?Thy gentle heart to beat with mine.The lover's star her watch doth keepIn the blue vault of yonder sky;While all around is hushed to sleep,I deem thy angel spirit nigh;'Twere rapture never felt beforeIn this serene and midnight noon,To hear from yonder lonely shoreThe watch-dog bay the full bright moon,Couldst thou be here to share this hourMy heart's beloved and buried flower.There is a spirit rides the air;I hear its murmur on the stream,I see its form of beauty fairDisporting in the moonlight beamIt is the spirit of delightOf young affection's ecstasy,And in its form and features brightThine own fair face and form I see:It hovers o'er my head, and nowI feel its hand upon my brow.I see the light of feeling playAnd sparkle in its winning smile,To chase my brooding cares away,And all my sorrows to beguile;I hear the voice I loved to hearMix with the music of the stream;The well-known accents strike my ear:Away! 'tis fancy's wildest dream:I am alone beneath the star,And thou art in thy grave afar!
THEgale is fresh upon my brow,The evening dew my cheek has wet,The bark moves merrily, and nowThe moonlight and the wave have met;The mountain heights their shadows throw,In dark and frowning majesty,Upon the rolling waters' flow,As sorrows cross young memory:What wants this scene to be divine?Thy gentle heart to beat with mine.
THEgale is fresh upon my brow,
The evening dew my cheek has wet,
The bark moves merrily, and now
The moonlight and the wave have met;
The mountain heights their shadows throw,
In dark and frowning majesty,
Upon the rolling waters' flow,
As sorrows cross young memory:
What wants this scene to be divine?
Thy gentle heart to beat with mine.
The lover's star her watch doth keepIn the blue vault of yonder sky;While all around is hushed to sleep,I deem thy angel spirit nigh;'Twere rapture never felt beforeIn this serene and midnight noon,To hear from yonder lonely shoreThe watch-dog bay the full bright moon,Couldst thou be here to share this hourMy heart's beloved and buried flower.
The lover's star her watch doth keep
In the blue vault of yonder sky;
While all around is hushed to sleep,
I deem thy angel spirit nigh;
'Twere rapture never felt before
In this serene and midnight noon,
To hear from yonder lonely shore
The watch-dog bay the full bright moon,
Couldst thou be here to share this hour
My heart's beloved and buried flower.
There is a spirit rides the air;I hear its murmur on the stream,I see its form of beauty fairDisporting in the moonlight beamIt is the spirit of delightOf young affection's ecstasy,And in its form and features brightThine own fair face and form I see:It hovers o'er my head, and nowI feel its hand upon my brow.
There is a spirit rides the air;
I hear its murmur on the stream,
I see its form of beauty fair
Disporting in the moonlight beam
It is the spirit of delight
Of young affection's ecstasy,
And in its form and features bright
Thine own fair face and form I see:
It hovers o'er my head, and now
I feel its hand upon my brow.
I see the light of feeling playAnd sparkle in its winning smile,To chase my brooding cares away,And all my sorrows to beguile;I hear the voice I loved to hearMix with the music of the stream;The well-known accents strike my ear:Away! 'tis fancy's wildest dream:I am alone beneath the star,And thou art in thy grave afar!
I see the light of feeling play
And sparkle in its winning smile,
To chase my brooding cares away,
And all my sorrows to beguile;
I hear the voice I loved to hear
Mix with the music of the stream;
The well-known accents strike my ear:
Away! 'tis fancy's wildest dream:
I am alone beneath the star,
And thou art in thy grave afar!
BY O. EVERTS, M. D.
AWAYin the mist of past ages,Thewas-lifeof wondrous renown—(Which lives but in History's pages,And the tales which Traditions hand down,Or in marbles that still o'er us frown)—Yet looks as if towering awayFar above all theIsorTo-beAnd a power still seemeth to sway,Though the present convulse to be free,And the future no prophet-eyes see.But only it seemeth—not real!A shadowy monster untruth!An image of vapors ideal,That floats in the sky of our youth,Ere we see with strong visions in sooth!And thus, while we gaze it departs,And a better, a nobler appears;TheIs-lifemore wonderful startsFrom its home in the heavenly spheres,And fills us with hopes and with fears!And we rise, while our hearts strongly beat,And say to our fears, all begone!They vanish, like clouds that retreatBefore the all-conquering sun—And we nerve for the deeds to be done!Ah! now does the youth feel his strength!See his cheeks, how they glow! and his eye,How it sparkles and gleams! till at lengthHis soul reaches out to the sky,And his thoughts through the universe fly!And his steps are elastic as air,Yet consciously proud—and his treadOver ruins of temples that were—And religion whose priesthoods are dead,Is as ifthereno prayer had been said.TheIs-lifeis now all to him!With a glance toward the future, inspiredHe moves with his might every limb—His soul with ambition is fired—And he grows in his task never tired.He triumphs! The truth is his sword,And theshamsand thephantomsthat are,Shrink back to antiquity's horde,To be buried with falsehoods that were,Whilst fame everlasting's his share!Oh! theIsis the life then for me!TheWashad its tasks and its men;And others will crowd theTo-be,And laugh at all this that hath been—But to me, what matters it then?
AWAYin the mist of past ages,Thewas-lifeof wondrous renown—(Which lives but in History's pages,And the tales which Traditions hand down,Or in marbles that still o'er us frown)—Yet looks as if towering awayFar above all theIsorTo-beAnd a power still seemeth to sway,Though the present convulse to be free,And the future no prophet-eyes see.But only it seemeth—not real!A shadowy monster untruth!An image of vapors ideal,That floats in the sky of our youth,Ere we see with strong visions in sooth!And thus, while we gaze it departs,And a better, a nobler appears;TheIs-lifemore wonderful startsFrom its home in the heavenly spheres,And fills us with hopes and with fears!And we rise, while our hearts strongly beat,And say to our fears, all begone!They vanish, like clouds that retreatBefore the all-conquering sun—And we nerve for the deeds to be done!Ah! now does the youth feel his strength!See his cheeks, how they glow! and his eye,How it sparkles and gleams! till at lengthHis soul reaches out to the sky,And his thoughts through the universe fly!And his steps are elastic as air,Yet consciously proud—and his treadOver ruins of temples that were—And religion whose priesthoods are dead,Is as ifthereno prayer had been said.TheIs-lifeis now all to him!With a glance toward the future, inspiredHe moves with his might every limb—His soul with ambition is fired—And he grows in his task never tired.He triumphs! The truth is his sword,And theshamsand thephantomsthat are,Shrink back to antiquity's horde,To be buried with falsehoods that were,Whilst fame everlasting's his share!Oh! theIsis the life then for me!TheWashad its tasks and its men;And others will crowd theTo-be,And laugh at all this that hath been—But to me, what matters it then?
AWAYin the mist of past ages,Thewas-lifeof wondrous renown—(Which lives but in History's pages,And the tales which Traditions hand down,Or in marbles that still o'er us frown)—
AWAYin the mist of past ages,
Thewas-lifeof wondrous renown—
(Which lives but in History's pages,
And the tales which Traditions hand down,
Or in marbles that still o'er us frown)—
Yet looks as if towering awayFar above all theIsorTo-beAnd a power still seemeth to sway,Though the present convulse to be free,And the future no prophet-eyes see.
Yet looks as if towering away
Far above all theIsorTo-be
And a power still seemeth to sway,
Though the present convulse to be free,
And the future no prophet-eyes see.
But only it seemeth—not real!A shadowy monster untruth!An image of vapors ideal,That floats in the sky of our youth,Ere we see with strong visions in sooth!
But only it seemeth—not real!
A shadowy monster untruth!
An image of vapors ideal,
That floats in the sky of our youth,
Ere we see with strong visions in sooth!
And thus, while we gaze it departs,And a better, a nobler appears;TheIs-lifemore wonderful startsFrom its home in the heavenly spheres,And fills us with hopes and with fears!
And thus, while we gaze it departs,
And a better, a nobler appears;
TheIs-lifemore wonderful starts
From its home in the heavenly spheres,
And fills us with hopes and with fears!
And we rise, while our hearts strongly beat,And say to our fears, all begone!They vanish, like clouds that retreatBefore the all-conquering sun—And we nerve for the deeds to be done!
And we rise, while our hearts strongly beat,
And say to our fears, all begone!
They vanish, like clouds that retreat
Before the all-conquering sun—
And we nerve for the deeds to be done!
Ah! now does the youth feel his strength!See his cheeks, how they glow! and his eye,How it sparkles and gleams! till at lengthHis soul reaches out to the sky,And his thoughts through the universe fly!
Ah! now does the youth feel his strength!
See his cheeks, how they glow! and his eye,
How it sparkles and gleams! till at length
His soul reaches out to the sky,
And his thoughts through the universe fly!
And his steps are elastic as air,Yet consciously proud—and his treadOver ruins of temples that were—And religion whose priesthoods are dead,Is as ifthereno prayer had been said.
And his steps are elastic as air,
Yet consciously proud—and his tread
Over ruins of temples that were—
And religion whose priesthoods are dead,
Is as ifthereno prayer had been said.
TheIs-lifeis now all to him!With a glance toward the future, inspiredHe moves with his might every limb—His soul with ambition is fired—And he grows in his task never tired.
TheIs-lifeis now all to him!
With a glance toward the future, inspired
He moves with his might every limb—
His soul with ambition is fired—
And he grows in his task never tired.
He triumphs! The truth is his sword,And theshamsand thephantomsthat are,Shrink back to antiquity's horde,To be buried with falsehoods that were,Whilst fame everlasting's his share!
He triumphs! The truth is his sword,
And theshamsand thephantomsthat are,
Shrink back to antiquity's horde,
To be buried with falsehoods that were,
Whilst fame everlasting's his share!
Oh! theIsis the life then for me!TheWashad its tasks and its men;And others will crowd theTo-be,And laugh at all this that hath been—But to me, what matters it then?
Oh! theIsis the life then for me!
TheWashad its tasks and its men;
And others will crowd theTo-be,
And laugh at all this that hath been—
But to me, what matters it then?
BY R. GRIFFIN STAPLES.
ITwas a beauteous eve! On high,The moon's bright silver ray,And stars gleamed softly down, to guideThe traveller's weary way.Gently the balmy breath of nightSighed o'er the distant lea,And birds their cheerful warblings hushedWith eve's serenity.The shades of death were falling slowWithin a chamber, whereA meek one lay, and, sinking, gazedInto a world more fair.Sweet hour for one so pure to die,To pass from earth awayTo that bright land where naught corrupts,And all is "perfect day.""Father!" she breathed, "Thy will be done!"And closed her eyes in death;"Father!" re-echoed through the sky,"Thy will be done on earth!"
ITwas a beauteous eve! On high,The moon's bright silver ray,And stars gleamed softly down, to guideThe traveller's weary way.Gently the balmy breath of nightSighed o'er the distant lea,And birds their cheerful warblings hushedWith eve's serenity.The shades of death were falling slowWithin a chamber, whereA meek one lay, and, sinking, gazedInto a world more fair.Sweet hour for one so pure to die,To pass from earth awayTo that bright land where naught corrupts,And all is "perfect day.""Father!" she breathed, "Thy will be done!"And closed her eyes in death;"Father!" re-echoed through the sky,"Thy will be done on earth!"
ITwas a beauteous eve! On high,The moon's bright silver ray,And stars gleamed softly down, to guideThe traveller's weary way.
ITwas a beauteous eve! On high,
The moon's bright silver ray,
And stars gleamed softly down, to guide
The traveller's weary way.
Gently the balmy breath of nightSighed o'er the distant lea,And birds their cheerful warblings hushedWith eve's serenity.
Gently the balmy breath of night
Sighed o'er the distant lea,
And birds their cheerful warblings hushed
With eve's serenity.
The shades of death were falling slowWithin a chamber, whereA meek one lay, and, sinking, gazedInto a world more fair.
The shades of death were falling slow
Within a chamber, where
A meek one lay, and, sinking, gazed
Into a world more fair.
Sweet hour for one so pure to die,To pass from earth awayTo that bright land where naught corrupts,And all is "perfect day."
Sweet hour for one so pure to die,
To pass from earth away
To that bright land where naught corrupts,
And all is "perfect day."
"Father!" she breathed, "Thy will be done!"And closed her eyes in death;"Father!" re-echoed through the sky,"Thy will be done on earth!"
"Father!" she breathed, "Thy will be done!"
And closed her eyes in death;
"Father!" re-echoed through the sky,
"Thy will be done on earth!"
THEnewest style of mantle is the Scarf Mantelet. Its graceful shape, lightness, and elegance have made it a great favorite. This mantle is made of muslin or silk, and trimmed with lace as fancy dictates.
DESCRIPTION OF DIAGRAMS OF LADY'S SCARF MANTELET.
Fig. 1.—Front.
Fig. 2.—Back. Joinatoaandbtob.
We also add the diagrams of a very pretty jacket.
DESCRIPTION OF DIAGRAMS OF LADY'S JACKET.
Fig. 3.—Front.
Fig. 4.—Back.
Fig. 5.—Side-piece. Joina,a,a.
Fig. 6.—Sleevein full. (This shape is very much worn for morning and evening dress.) A Shoulder.
DIAGRAMS OF LADY'S SCARF MANTELET, AND LADY'S JACKET.
DIAGRAMS OF LADY'S SCARF MANTELET, AND LADY'S JACKET.
DIAGRAMS OF LADY'S SCARF MANTELET, AND LADY'S JACKET.
[See larger version]
Material.—Crochet thread, No. 1; Penelope needle, No. 3.
COMMENCEwith 12 chain, make it round by working a single stitch in the first chain stitch.
1st round.—(4 chain and 2 plain in the foundation chain, 7 times.)
2d.—1 chain (2 treble, 3 chain and 2 treble, all in the 4 chain of the first round), then 1 chain, 1 plain on the 2 plain. Repeat 6 times more.
3d.—Miss 1, 1 plain in the 1 chain, 3 chain, miss 2 (3 treble, 3 chain and 3 treble, in the 3 chain of the last round), then 3 chain, miss 2, 1 plain in the next 1 chain. Repeat 6 times more.
4th.—5 chain, keep this chain at the back of the last round, and work 1 plain between the 2 plain stitches of the last round. Repeat 6 times more, leaving the points formed in the last round in front.
5th.—(2 chain and 1 plain, 3 times, in each of the 5 chains of the last round.)
6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th.—(2 chain and 1 plain, in the 2 chain, 21 times.)
10th.—(1 chain and 1 plain, in the 2 chain, 21 times.)
11th.—42 plain.
12th.—41 plain, 1 single.
13th.—(6 chain, miss 4, and 2 plain, on thelower edgeof the stitches of the last round, 7 times), the upper edge of the stitches of the 12th round are left at the back to form the foundation of the inner part of the tassel.
14th.—2 chain (3 treble, 3 chain, and 3 treble, all in the 6 chain); then 2 chain and 1 plain, on the 2 plain of the 13th round. Repeat 6 times more.
15th.—1 chain, miss 2, 1 plain in the 2 chain; then 2 chain, miss 2 (3 treble, 3 chain and 3 treble, in the 3 chain), 2 chain, miss 2, 1 plain in the 2 chain. Repeat 6 times more; then 1 plain in the 1st chain stitch.
16th.—4 chain, miss 6, 3 treble in the 3 chain; then 5 chain, turn, miss 4, 1 single on the 1st stitch of these 5 chain to form a round loop; turn, and work (5 chain and 1 plain, in the round loop, 5 times), then 3 treble in the same 3 chain of the 15th round as before, 4 chain, miss 6, 1 plain in the 1 chain. Repeat 6 times more, and fasten off, which finishes the outside.
To form the under part of the tassel, return to the 12th round, the upper edge of the stitches having been left on the inside of the tassel, and commencing on the first stitch, work for the
1st round.—42 plain, 1 single on the 1st stitch of the round.
2d.—(5 chain, miss 2, and 1 plain, 14 times.)
3d.—(5 chain, miss 4, and 1 plain, in the 5 chain, 14 times.)
4th.—1 chain, miss 4, 1 plain in the 5 chain, then 9 chain, 1 plain in the same 5 chain, then 1 chain, 6 treble in the next 5 chain. Repeat 6 times more.
5th.—1 chain, miss 5, 1 treble in the 9 chain (then 3 chain and 1 treble in the same 9 chain, 3 times); 1 chain, miss 5, 3 treble in the 3d stitch of the 6 treble, then 3 treble in the next stitch. Repeat 6 times more.
6th.—1 chain, miss 5, 1 plain in the 3 chain, then 3 chain, miss 3 (2 long, 5 chain and 2 long, all in the next 3 chain), 3 chain, miss 3, 1 plain in the next 3 chain, 1 chain, miss 5, 3 treble in the 3d treble stitch, and 3 treble in the next stitch. Repeat 6 times more.
7th.—1 chain, miss 5, 1 plain in the 3 chain, then 2 chain, miss 3, 1 plain in the 5 chain, then (5 chain and 1 plain, in the same 5 chain, 5 times) 2 chain, miss 3, 1 plain in the 3 chain, then 1 chain, miss 5, 3 treble in the 3d treble stitch, and 3 treble in the next stitch. Repeat 6 times more.
8th.—3 chain, miss 9, 1 plain in the 5 chain, 3 chain, miss 5, 1 treble in the next 5 chain, 3 chain, miss 5, 1 treble in the next 5 chain, 3 chain, 1 treble in the same 5 chain as before, 3 chain, miss 5, and 1 treble in the next 5 chain, 3 chain, miss 5, 1 plain in the next 5 chain, 3 chain, miss 9, 1 plain on the centre of the 6 treble. Repeat 6 times more; then 3 chain, miss 3, 1 plain in the first 3 chain.
9th.—3 chain, miss 3, 1 treble in the next 3 chain, then 3 chain, miss 3, 1 treble in the next 3 chain, 3 chain, miss 3 (1 long, 3 chain, 1 long, both in the 3 chain), 3 chain, miss 3, 1 treble, 3 chain, miss 3, 1 treble, 3 chain, miss 3, 1 plain in the 3 chain, miss 1, 1 plain in the next 3 chain. Repeat 6 times more.
10th.—Miss 2, 3 plain in the 3 chain, *, miss 1, 1 plain, 1 treble, 3 chain, 1 treble, and 1 plain, all in the next 3 chain. Repeat from * 4 times more; then miss 1, 3 plain in the 3 chain. Repeat from the commencement of the round, 6 times more, and fasten off.
Materials.—Crochet thread, No. 4; and, to embroider the pattern, a skein of pink or blue Shetland wool, or embroidery cotton, No. 16; steel mesh, No. 14, and a flat ivory mesh, one quarter of an inch in width—this will make an ordinary cap; but, if any other size is required, the meshes and thread must be coarser or finer.
Materials.—Crochet thread, No. 4; and, to embroider the pattern, a skein of pink or blue Shetland wool, or embroidery cotton, No. 16; steel mesh, No. 14, and a flat ivory mesh, one quarter of an inch in width—this will make an ordinary cap; but, if any other size is required, the meshes and thread must be coarser or finer.
COMMENCEwith the crochet thread, and No. 14 mesh, on a foundation of 20 stitches; work 40 rows of 20 stitches each. This piece forms the centre of the crown, cut it off the foundation, and run a string along the four sides, about four or five stitches from the edges, so as to work all round the square.
1st round.—Work down the first side thus: net a stitch plain, then net 2 stitches in one stitch, 15 plain, 2 stitches in one, 2 plain, and along the other side, *, net 2 stitches in one, 15 plain, 2 stitches in one, and 2 plain. Repeat from * twice more.
2d.—Net 3 plain then (2 stitches in one, and 10 plain, 8 times).
3d.—Plain.
4th.—(Net 11 plain, and 2 stitches in one, 8 times.)
It will now be advisable to take out the string, and run it into the 1st round to keep the work even. Net 15 rounds plain.
20th.—Net 2 stitches in one, then 20 plain, 2 stitches in one, 79 plain. Net 4 rounds more the same as last, working 2 stitches more at the end of each round, so that the 20 plain stitches are always over those of the preceding round; when finished, turn back. Net to within 20 stitches of the end of the round, turn back again, and leaving the 20 stitches to form the back of the cap, work for the front, 8 rows plain, netting two stitches in the last stitch of each row. Then 12 rows plain without increasing; and for the foundation of the border double the cotton and work 6 rows plain.
Embroider the cap with the pink wool in darning stitch, passing the needle about 6 times in each square of the netting.
THEBORDER.—With the thread, and No. 14 mesh, net 6 stitches plain, and continue working backwards and forwards for about 9 yards; then to form.
THEEDGE.—Run a string in the loops whichform the selvedge, so as to work on the other selvedge.
1st row.—With flat mesh, net 4 stitches in every other stitch of the selvedge.
2d.—With 14 mesh, plain netting, working a stitch in every stitch of the first row. Then, with the pink wool, embroider the plain netting.
To make up the cap, sew a row of the border to the last thick row of the cap, fulling it at the ears, plain across the front to the centre, then draw 5 loops close together to make it rather pointed, plain again, and full at the other ear, and across the back, sew on another row of the border the same, attaching it to the first thick row; then sew on a third border, very full, and in a zigzag form on the ears, but the same as before across the front.
THESTRINGS.—With the thread and No. 14 mesh, net 12 stitches, and continue working backwards and forwards for 5 inches, then net 2 stitches in one at the end of every third row, until it is increased to 28 stitches; then net 8 rows, leaving 3 stitches unworked at the end of each row; and for
THEEDGE.—With the flat mesh, commence in the last stitch of the side, and net 4 stitches in every other stitch across the uneven rows; then one row plain, with No. 14 mesh. Work another string the same, and embroider them as the cap.
OURreaders can scarcely imagine the difficulty we meet with in presentingnoveltiesin this department. The shades of fashion are so various, and yet so slight, that, in giving new designs from month to month, those not accustomed to scrutinize closely may not notice the peculiarities they are intended to present, or that each month has its peculiar and seasonable adaptation. For instance—
APRON IN BRODERIE EN LACET.
APRON IN BRODERIE EN LACET.
APRON IN BRODERIE EN LACET.
Fig. 1, a wrought lace chemisette and stomacher,is intended for the mild opening season, when cambric embroideries would be too heavy for the style of dress. The prevailing form of the opening of the basque corsage is also denoted by it—low, square, or a broad oval on the bust. The construction of the chemisette of broad scalloped lace, is simple enough, on a foundation of Grecian net or coach blonde.
Fig. 2 is an undersleeve to correspond, made sufficiently loose at the wrist for the hand to pass through. The box plaiting or quilling of satin ribbon, which heads the lace in both Figs. 1 and 2, is fastened in the sleeve by a rosette. This is of course only caught on, and is easily removed when the lace is to be done up; it may be of any shade, and is very stylish in evening dress.
Fig. 3 is a rather close morning cap for a lady of middle age, made of alternate rows of clean muslin puffs and fine Valenciennes insertion. It has a crown, front piece, and frill. The border is a medium Valenciennes edge sewn in the insertion, two rows slightly frilled. Bows and strings of violet-colored satin ribbon.
Fig. 4.—Breakfast cap for a young married lady, consisting of a crown piece, and two rows of edging, of Maltese lace. Bows and ends of rich ribbon, medium width between the rows, a knot of broader ribbon behind, a little to the right. For description ofMalteselace, see fashion article.
(See Blue Plate in front of Book.)
Materials.—Seven-eighths of a yard of wide black glace silk, two knots of cerise Russia silk braid, one knot of pale vert-islay ditto, and a dozen skeins of sewing-silk to match each braid.
Materials.—Seven-eighths of a yard of wide black glace silk, two knots of cerise Russia silk braid, one knot of pale vert-islay ditto, and a dozen skeins of sewing-silk to match each braid.
BRODERIE ENLACETsignifies a design out-lined as if merely for braiding, but with the flowers and other parts filled in with point lace stitches, so as to make a solid piece of embroidering on the silk. For no article is this novel style of work more suitable than for aprons, which it renders exceedingly ornamental, at a very small expenditure of time and trouble, the very simplest of the point lace stitches only being used in this work. Of course, the size of our page precludes our giving even the half of the apron the full size. The design must be enlarged according to the size required, the pattern procured, and the silk marked in the same way as ordinary braiding or embroidery.
Braiding should always be done with a strand of the silk of which the braid is made. Before beginning, cut off a yard of the braid and draw out the threads for sewing with. Thread the end of the braid on a large darning-needle, and draw it through the silk to the wrong side for the commencement, and do the same at every necessary break, sending the ends down. Run the braid on very smoothly, taking the stitches across it slanting and cut along the centre, as is usually done. The braid should lie perfectly flat, and the edges be smooth and even.
The knots at the side suspending the wreath are done in the green braid, the two parallel lines of which are connected by close herring-bone stitch, or point d'Alençon, as it is called in lace-work. All the fancy stitches are done with the common sewing-silk, not with the strands of the braid. The leaves need have merely the veinings worked in Venetian bars; those, however, who do not mind the trouble, will do well to fill them first with Brussels lace, and work the fibres over that; the improved effect will quite repay the extra work. The roses are filled up closely in the Brussels and Venetian lace, the narrow parts being connected with English bars. The lower part of each bud has a rosette in it, the remainder is filled with Venetian lace.