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And shout their raptures to the cloudless skies,
While every jovial hour on downy pinion flies.

But, ah! those fairy scenes at once have fled,
Since stern Experience waved her iron wand,
Broke the soft slumbers of my visioned head,
And bade me here of perfect bliss despond.
And oft have I the painful lesson conned,
When Disappointment mocked my wooing heart,
Still of its own delusion weakly fond,

And from forbidden pleasures loath to part,
Though shrinking oft beneath Correction's deepest smart.

And is there nought in mortal life, I cried,
Can soothe the sorrows of the laboring breast?
No kind recess, where baffled Hope may hide,
And weary Nature lull her woes to rest?

O grant me, pitying Heaven, this last request,-
Since I must every loftier wish resign,-

Be my few days with peace and friendship blessed;
Nor will I at my humble lot repine,

Though neither wealth, nor fame, nor luxury be mine.

O give me yet, in some recluse abode,
Encircled with a faithful few, to dwell,

Where power cannot oppress, nor care corrode,
Nor venomed tongues the tale of slander tell;-
Or bear me to some solitary cell,

Beyond the reach of every human eye;
And let me bid a long and last farewell
To each alluring object 'neath the sky,

And there in peace await my hour, in peace to die.

"Ah, vain desire!" a still small voice replied;

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No place, no circumstance can Peace impart :-
She scorns the mansion of unvanquished Pride,
Sweet inmate of a pure and humble heart;-
Take then thy station-act thy proper part:-
A Savior's mercy seek,-his will perform :
His word has balm for sin's envenomed smart,
His love, diffused, thy shuddering breast shall warm,
His power provide a shelter from the gathering storm."

O welcome hiding place! O refuge meet
For fainting pilgrims, on this desert way!

O kind Conductor of these wandering feet,
Through snares and darkness, to the realms of day!
Soon did the Sun of Righteousness display
His healing beams; each gloomy cloud dispel :
While on the parting mist, in colors gay,

Truth's cheering bow of precious promise fell,

And Mercy's silver voice soft whispered,-" All is well.”

Fragment of an Epistle written while recovering from severe Illness.-RICHARD H. DANA.

No more, my friend,

A wearied ear I'll urge you lend
My tale of sickness. Aches I've borne
From closing day to breaking morn-
Long wintry nights and days of pain-
Sharp pain. 'Tis past; and I would fain
My languor cheer with grateful thought
On Him who to this frame has brought
Soothing and rest; who, when there rose,
Within my bosom's dull repose,

A troubled memory of wrong,

Done in health's day, when passions strong
Swayed me,-repentance spoke and peace,
Hope, and from dark remorse release.

Lonely, in thought, I travelled o'er
Days past and joys to come no more;
Sat watching the low beating fire,
And saw its flames shoot up, expire
Like cheerful thoughts that glance their light
Athwart the mind, and then 'tis night.

For ever night?-The Eternal One,
With sacred fire from forth his throne,
Has touched my heart. O, fail it not
When days of health shall be my lot.

Beside me, Patience, Suffering's child,
With gentle voice, and aspect mild,
Sat chanting to me song so holy,
A song to soothe my melancholy;

Won me to learn of her to bear

Sorrows, and pains, and all that wear

Our hearts-me-chained by sickness-taught,
"Prisoner to none the free of thought:"
A truth sublime, but slowly learned
By one who for earth's freshness yearned.

From open air and ample sky
Pent up, thus doomed for days to lie,
Was trial hard to me, a stranger
To long confinement,―me, a ranger
Through bare or leafy wood, o'er hill,
O'er field, by shore, or by the rill

When taking hues from bending flowers,
Or stealing dark by crystal bowers
Built up by Winter on its bank,
Of branches shot from vapor dank:
And hard to sit, and see boys slide

O'er crusted plain stretched smooth and wide;
Or down the steep and shining drift,

With shout and call, shoot light and swift.

But I could stand at set of sun,
And see the snow he shone upon
Change to a path of glory,-see

The rainbow hues 'twixt him and me-
Orange, and green, and golden light:
I thought on that celestial sight,
That city seen by aged John,
City with walls of precious stone
Brighter and brighter grew the road
'Twixt me and the descending God-
Methought I could the path have trod.
Silent and slow the sun has gone,
And left me on the earth alone.

And gone's his path, like the steps of light

By angels trod at dead of night,

While Jacob slept. Around my room
The shadows deepen; while the gloom
Visits my soul, in converse high

Lifted but now, when heaven was nigh

Why could not I, in spirit, raise

Pillar of Bethel to his praise

Who blessed me, and free worship pay,
Like Isaac's son upon his way?
Are holy thoughts but happy dreams
Chased by despair, as starry gleams

By clouds?-Nay, turn, and read thy mind;
Nay, look on Nature's face; thou'lt find
Kind, gentle graces, thoughts to raise
The tired spirit-hope and praise.

O, kind to me, in darkest hour
She led me forth with gentle power,
From lonely thought, from sad unrest,
To peace of mind, and to her breast
The son, who always loved her, pressed;
Called up the moon to cheer me; laid
Its silver light on bank and glade,
And bade it throw mysterious beams
O'er ice-clad hill-which steely gleams
Sent back-a knight who took his rest,
His burnished shield above his breast.
The fence of long, rough rails, that went
O'er trackless snows, a beauty lent:
Glittered each cold and icy bar
Beneath the moon like shafts of war.
And there a lovely tracery

Of branch and twig that naked tree
Of shadows soft and dim has wove,
And spread so gently, that above
The pure white snow it seems to float
Lighter than that celestial boat,
The silver-beaked moon, on air,—
Lighter than feathery gossamer;
As if its dark'ning touch, through fear,
It held from thing so saintly clear.

Thus Nature threw her beauties round me;
Thus, from the gloom in which she found me,
She won me by her simple graces,
She wooed me with her happy faces.

The day is closed; and I refrain
From further talk. But, if of pain
It has beguiled a weary hour;
If to my desert mind, like shower

That wets the parching earth, has come
A cheerful thought, and made its home
With me awhile; I'd have you share,
Who feel for me in ills I bear.

Lines occasioned by hearing a little Boy mock the Old South Clock, as it rung the Hour of Twelve.-MRS. CHILD.

Ay, ring thy shout to the merry hours:
Well may ye part in glee;

From their sunny wings they scatter flowers,
And, laughing, look on thee.

Thy thrilling voice has started tears:

It brings to mind the day

When I chased butterflies and years,-
And both flew fast away.

Then my glad thoughts were few and free;
They came but to depart,

And did not ask where heaven could be-
'Twas in my little heart.

I since have sought the meteor crown,
Which fame bestows on men:
How gladly would I throw it down,
To be so gay again!

But youthful joy has gone away;
In vain 'tis now pursued;
Such rainbow glories only stay
Around the simply good.

I know too much, to be as blessed
As when I was like thee;

My spirit, reasoned into rest,
Has lost its buoyancy.

Yet still I love the winged hours:

We often part in glee

And sometimes, too, are fragrant flowers
Their farewell gifts to me.

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