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And, heedless of his shouted name
As of the carol of a bird,
Stands gazing on the empty air
As if some dream were passing there-
'Tis then that on his face I look,
His beautiful but thoughtful face,
And, like a long-forgotten book,
Its sweet, familiar meanings trace,
Remembering a thousand things
Which passed me on these golden wings
Which time has fettered now-

Things that came o'er me with a thrill,
And left me silent, sad, and still,

And threw upon my brow

A holier and a gentler cast,

That was too innocent to last.

'Tis strange how thought upon a child
Will, like a presence, sometimes press,
And when his pulse is beating wild,
And life itself is in excess-

When foot and hand, and ear and eye,
Are all with ardor straining high-
How in his heart will spring
A feeling whose mysterious thrall
Is stronger, sweeter far than all;
And on its silent wing,

How with the clouds he'll float away,
As wandering and as lost as they!

The Memory of the Just is blessed.-MRS. SIGOURNEY.

THOU too, blest Raikes-philanthropist divine-
Who, all unconscious what thy hands had done,
Didst plant that germ, whose glorious fruit shall shine
When from his throne doth fall yon darkened sun,—

The Sabbath bell, the Teacher's hallowed lore,

The countless throng from childhood's snares set free,

Who in sweet strains the Sire of Heaven adore,
Shall point in solemn gratitude to thee.

Who was with Martyn, when he breathed his last,
A martyr pale, on Asia's burning sed?
Who cheered his spirit as it onward past

From its frail house of clay?—The hosts of God.
Oh! ye who trust, when earthly toils shall cease,
To find a home in heaven's unfading clime,
Drink deeper at the fountain head of peace,
And cleanse your spirits for that world sublime!

The Wife.-NEW YORK DAILY ADVERTISER

"She flung her white arms around hin-Thou art all
That this poor heart can cling to."

I COULD have stemmed misfortune's tide,
And borne the rich one's sneer,
Have braved the haughty glance of pride,
Nor shed a single tear.

I could have smiled on every blow
From Life's full quiver thrown,

While I might gaze on thee, and know
I should not be " alone."

I could I think I could have brooked,
E'en for a time, that thou

Upon my fading face hadst looked
With less of love than now;

For then I should at least have felt
The sweet hope still my own,
To win thee back, and, whilst I dwelt
On earth, not been alone."

But thus to see, from day to day,

Thy brightening eye and cheek,
And watch thv life-sands waste away,
Unnumbered, slowly, meek;—
To meet thy smiles of tenderness,
And catch the feeble tone

Of kindness, ever breathed to bless,
And feel, I'll be “alone;"-

To mark thy strength each hour decay,
And yet thy hopes grow stronger,

As, filled with heaven-ward trust, they say,
"Earth may not claim thee longer;"
Nay, dearest; 'tis too much—this heart
Must break, when thou art gone;
It must not be; we may not part;
I could not live" alone!"

Song of the Stars.-BRYANT.

WHEN the radiant morn of creation broke,
And the world in the smile of God awoke,
And the empty realms of darkness and death

Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath,
And orbs of beauty, and spheres of flame,
From the void abyss, by myriads came,
In the joy of youth, as they darted away,
Through the widening wastes of space to play,
Their silver voices in chorus rung;

And this was the song the bright ones sung:

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"Away, away! through the wide, wide sky,-
The fair blue fields that before us lie,-
Each sun, with the worlds that round us roll,
Each planet, poised on her turning pole,
With her isles of green, and her clouds of white,
And her waters that lie like fluid light.

"For the Source of glory uncovers his face,
And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space;
And we drink, as we go, the luminous tides
In our ruddy air and our blooming sides.
Lo, yonder the living splendors play:
Away, on our joyous path away!

"Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar,

In the infinite azure, star after star,

How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass!
How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass!

And the path of the gentle winds is seen,

Where the small waves dance, and the young woods lean

"And see, where the brighter day-beams p How the rainbows hang in the sunny show

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Around our heads the bat, on leathern wings,
In airy circles wheels his sudden flight;
The whippoorwill, in distant forest, sings
Her loud, unvaried song; and o'er the night
The boding owl, upon the evening gale,
Sends forth her wild and melancholy wail.

The first sweet hour of gentle evening flies,
On downy pinions to eternal rest;
Along the vale the balmy breezes rise,

Fanning the languid boughs; while in the west
The last faint streaks of daylight die away,
And night and silence close the summer day.

Introduction to the Poem of" Yamoyden.”—
ROBERT C. SANDS.

Go forth, sad fragments of a broken strain, The last that either bard shall e'er essay: The hand can ne'er attempt the chords again, That first awoke them in a happier day: Where sweeps the ocean breeze its desert way, His requiem murmurs o'er the moaning wave; And he who feebly now prolongs the lay Shall ne'er the minstrel's hallowed honors crave; His harp lies buried deep in that untimely grave !

Friend of my youth! with thee began the love
Of sacred song; the wont, in golden dreams,
'Mid classic realms of splendors past to rove,
O'er haunted steep, and by immortal streams;
Where the blue wave, with sparkling bosom gleams
Round shores, the mind's eternal heritage,
For ever lit by memory's twilight beams;
Where the proud dead, that live in storied page,
Beckon, with awful port, to glory's earlier age.

There would we linger oft. entranced, to hear,
O'er battle fields, the epic thunders roll;
Or list, where tragic wail upon the ear,
Through Argive palaces shrill echoing stole;
There would we mark, uncurbed by all control,
In central heaven, the Theban eagle's flight;

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