Great fountain-head of evil; highest source TRUE HAPPINESS. True happiness had no localities, HOLY LOVE. FROM "THE COURSE OF TIME," BOOK V. Hail, holy love! thou word that sums all bliss! A MOONLIGHT EVENING. It was an eve of autumn's holiest mood; Its Maker: now and then the agéd leaf Ecorge Washington Doane. AMERICAN. Born in Trenton, N. J., in 1799, Doane studied for the Episcopal Church, and was consecrated bishop of the diocese of his native State in 1832. He published a collection of poetical pieces in 1824, and was the author of various theological treatises. He died April 27, 1859. Not all alone: a watchful eye, That notes the wandering sparrow's fall: A saving hand is ever nigh, A gracious Power attends thy call: When sadness holds thy heart in thrall, Is oft His tenderest mercy shown; Seek then the balm vouchsafed to all, And thou canst never be ALONE. Let the loud laughter peal, the toast go round, My thoughts, my thoughts are thine,- forever thine! Forever thine, whate'er this heart betide; Forever mine, where'er our lot be cast; Fate, that may rob us of all wealth beside, Shall leave us love,-till life itself be past! FOREVER THINE. Forever thine, whate'er this heart betide; Forever mine, where'er our lot be cast; Fate, that may rob us of all wealth beside, Shall leave us love-till life itself be past. The world may wrong us, we will brave its hate; False friends may change, and falser hopes decline; Thongh bowed by cankering cares, we'll smile at Fate, Since thou art mine, beloved, and I am thine! Forever thine, when circling years have spread Time's snowy blossoms o'er thy placid brow; When youth's rich glow, its "purple light," is fled, And lilies bloom where roses flourish now; Say, shall I love the fading beauty less Whose spring - tide radiance has been wholly mine? No,-come what will, thy steadfast truth I'll bless, In youth, in age-thine own, forever thine! Forever thine, at evening's dewy hour, When gentle hearts to tenderest thoughts incline; When balmiest odors from each closing flower Are breathing round me,-thine, forever thine! Forever thine! 'mid Fashion's heartless throng; In courtly bowers; at Folly's gilded shrine;Smiles on my cheek, light words upon my tongue, My deep heart still is thine,-forever thine! Forever thine, amid the boisterous crowd, I would not, sweet, profane that silvery sound,— The depths of love could such rude hearts divine? John Abraham Heraud. An English poet and miscellaneous writer (born 1799), Heraud has been a diligent, if not a successful, cultivator of the poetic art. He has written tragedies, lyrics, and narrative poems: "The Legend of St. Loy" (1821); “The Descent into Hell, and other Poems" (1830); “Judgment of the Flood: a Poem" (1834); "The War of Ideas" (1871). It was his fortune to be snubbed by the critics, and not always unjustly. On his asking Douglas Jerrold whether he had ever seen his "Descent into Hell," the reply was, "No, but I would like to see it." Heraud was a man of genius, though his writings show much misplaced power and abortive striving. Chambers says of him, that "he was in poetry what Martin was in art, a worshipper of the vast, the remote, and the terrible." His "Descent" and "Judgment" are chiefly remarkable as psychological curiosities. THE EMIGRANT'S HOME. Prepare thee, soul, to quit this spot, Where life is sorrow, doubt, and pain: There is a land where these are not, A land where Peace and Plenty reign. And, after all, is Earth thy home? Thy place of exile, rather, where Thou wert conveyed, ere thought could come, To make thy young remembrance clear. Oh! there in thee are traces still, Which of that other country tellThat angel-land where came no ill, Where thou art destined yet to dwell. Yon azure depth thou yet shalt sail, And, lark-like, sing at heaven's gate; The bark that shall through air prevail, Even now thy pleasure doth await. The Ship of Souls will thrid the space "Twixt earth and heaven with sudden flight: Dread not the darkness to embrace, That leads thee to the Land of Light! William Kennedy. Strew with pale flowerets, when pensive moons His grassy covering, Kennedy (1799-1849) was a native of Paisley, Scotland. Before he was twenty-five years old he wrote "My Early Days," a pathetic little story, which had great success, and was republished in Boston. In 1827 appeared his volume of poems, under the title of "Fitful Fancies;" in 1830, "The Arrow and the Rose, and other Poems." He was the literary associate of Motherwell in conducting the Paisley Magazine. Removing to London, he engaged in some literary enterprises with Leitch Ritchie. He accompanied the Earl of Dalhousie to Canada as his private secretary, and was appointed consul at Galves- Feelings akin to the lost poet's own. ton, Texas, where he resided several years. In 1841 he published in two volumes, in London, the "Rise, Prog ress, and Prospects of the Republic of Texas." He returned to England in 1847, retired on a pension, and took up his residence near London, where he died, shortly after a visit to his native Scotland. Not as a record he lacketh a stone! Pay a light debt to the singer we've known-- LINES WRITTEN AFTER A VISIT TO THE GRAVE OF MY FRIEND, Place we a stone at his head and his feet; Ever approvingly, Ever most lovingly, Turned he to nature, a worshipper meet. Harm not the thorn which grows at his head; To rest his poor head 'mong the low-lying dead. Dearer to him than the deep minster-bell, Who, for the early day, Worldly ones treading this terrace of graves, Flow from their spring in the soul's silent caves. Dreamers of noble thoughts, raise him a shrine, A THOUGHT. Oh that I were the great soul of a world! By the glad hand of Omnipotence hurled Reflecting the marvellous beauty of heaven, To endure when the orbs shall wax dim that are Old Time to destroy! Oh that I were this magnificent spirit! The measureless bliss they were sure to inherit, With elements infinite fitted for taking To give me forever the rapture of making Robert Comfort Sands. AMERICAN. Sands (1799-1832) was a native of the city of New York, and a graduate of Columbia College, of the class of 1815. One of his college companions, two years his senior, was James Wallis Eastburn, who was also a poet, and wrote, in conjunction with Sands, the poem of “Yamoyden," founded on the history of Philip, the Pequod chieftain. Eastburn took orders in the Episcopal Church, and died in 1819, in his twenty-second year. The best part of "Yamoyden" is the "Proem," written by Sands, and containing some graceful and pathetic stanzas in reference to Eastburn, one of which we subjoin: "Go forth, sad fragments of a broken strain, Where he who in the mortal head1 Where sweeps the ocean breeze its desert way, His harp lies buried deep in that untimely grave!" Sands was a lawyer, but the attractions of literature drew him away from his profession, and he became an associate editor of the Commercial Advertiser. He ventured on several literary projects, edited magazines, and wrote a "Life of John Paul Jones." He did not live to fulfil the promise which his early compositions gave. He died unmarried, having always lived at home in his father's house. His "Writings in Prose and Verse, with a Memoir of the Author," in two volumes, were published by the Messrs. Harper in 1834. |