MRS. ELIZABETH F. SWIFT.*

I.

TO ESTELLE.

COME out upon the dewy hills, sweet friend,
And let us study Nature's changeful face.
Look how the sun's last rays harmonious blend,
Folding the woodlands in a warm embrace;
Each glowing leaf, stirred by the evening breeze,
Gleams with prismatic hues; crimson and gold,
Purple and azure seem the waving trees;

The mists their silvery vapors have unrolled,
And hover o'er the river's troubled breast,

River, that 'midst such deep and calm repose Forever murmurs with a sad unrest,

Like human hearts o'erburdened with life's woes. But see bright messenger of Heaven, queen of the summer skies,

Filling the earth with loveliness-the Harvest-Moon arise.

* Mrs. Swift, formerly Miss Lorrain, is a Philadelphian by birth, and first-cousin of Leigh Hunt, the poet. She is the wife of Dr. Joseph T. Swift of Easton, Pa.

II.

MOONLIGHT upon the hills! there is a spell
Like witchery o'er us: as we gaze around,
A tender light illumines hill and dell,

Falling in golden checkers on the ground.
Now perfume steals from out the forest shades;
All fragrant things and fair their incense bring;
And hark! amid the dim wood's tangled glades,

I hear the gushing waters laugh and sing.

J

Among the clustering leaves of yonder oak

A A ring-dove's nest is hid, list her soft moan:

Love never to Night's ear in language spoke,

Calling with deeper fondness on its own.

World! if to thee, sin-stained, such lavish charms are given,

How can a human thought conceive the spirit joys of

heaven !

MRS. EMMA CATHARINE EMBURY.

I.

CONFIDENCE IN HEAVEN.

It is in vain the weary spirit strives

With that which doth consume it; there is born A strength from suffering which can laugh to scorn The stroke of sorrow, even though it rives Our very heart-strings; but the grief that lives Forever in the heart, and, day by day, Wastes the soul's high-wrought energies away, And wears the lofty spirit down, and gives Its own dark hue to life, O who can bear? Yet, as the black and threatening tempests bring New fragrance to earth's flowers, and tints more fair, So beneath sorrow's nurture virtues spring. Youth, health, and hope may fade, but there is left A soul that trusts in Heaven, though thus of all bereft.

II.

He who has travelled through some weary day,
And reached at summer eve a green hillside,
Whence he can see, now veiled in twilight gray,

The dreary path through which he lately hied,
While o'er his onward road the setting sun

Sheds its sweet beam on every wayside flower, Forgets his labors ere the goal be won,

And in his heart enjoys the quiet hour.

Father and mother, be it so with you!

While memory's pleasant twilight shades the past, May hope illume the way ye still pursue,

And each new scene seem brighter than the last ; Thus, wending on toward sunset, may ye find

Life's lengthening shadows ever cast behind.

MRS. SARAH HELEN WHITMAN.

FADED FLOWERS.

REMEMBRANCERS of happiness! to me

Ye bring sweet thoughts of the year's purple prime, Wild, mingling melodies of bird and bee,

That pour on summer winds their silvery chime, And of rich incense, burdening all the air,

From flowers that by the sunny garden wall
Bloomed at your side, nursed into beauty there

By dews and silent showers; but these to all
Ye bring. O, sweeter far than these the spell
Shrined in those fairy urns for me alone!
For me a charm sleeps in each honeyed cell,

Whose power can call back hours of rapture flown; To the sad heart sweet memories restore,

Tones, looks, and words of love that may return no more.