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Joy from my darkling soul is fled,

And haggard phantoms haunt me wild;
Despair assails, and Hope is dead:
O, holy Virgin, call thy child.

Song.-FROM THE TALISMAN.

WHEN the firmament quivers with daylight's young beam, And the woodlands, awaking, burst into a hymn,

And the glow of the sky blazes back from the stream,—
How the bright ones of heaven in the brightness grow dim!

Oh, tis sad, in that moment of glory and song,

To see, while the hill-tops are waiting the sun, The glittering host, that kept watch all night long O'er Love and o'er Slumber, go out one by one ;

Till the circle of ether, deep, rosy and vast,

Scarce glimmers with one of the train that were there;
And their leader, the day-star, the brightest and last,
Twinkles faintly, and fades in that desert of air.

Thus Oblivion, from midst of whose shadow we came,
Steals o'er us again when life's moment is gone;
And the crowd of bright names in the heaven of fame
Grow pale and are quenched as the years hasten on.

Let them fade-but we'll pray that the age, in whose flight
Of ourselves and our friends the remembrance shall die,
May rise o'er the world, with the gladness and light
Of the dawn that effaces the stars from the sky.

September.-CARLOS WILCOX.

THE sultry summer past, September comes,
Soft twilight of the slow-declining year;—
All mildness, soothing loneliness and peace;
The fading season ere the falling come,
More sober than the buxom blooming May,
And therefore less the favorite of the world,
But dearest month of all to pensive minds.

Tis now far spent; and the meridian sun,
Most sweetly smiling with attempered beams,
Sheds gently down a mild and grateful warmth.
Beneath its yellow lustre, groves and woods,
Checkered by one night's frost with various hues,
While yet no wind has swept a leaf away,
Shine doubly rich. It were a sad delight
Down the smooth stream to glide, and see it tinged
Upon each brink with all the gorgeous hues,
The yellow, red, or purple of the trees,
That, singly, or in tufts, or forests thick,
Adorn the shores; to see, perhaps, the side
Of some high mount reflected far below
With its bright colors, intermixed with spots
Of darker green. Yes, it were sweetly sad
To wander in the open fields, and hear,
E'en at this hour, the noon-day hardly past,
The lulling insects of the summer's night;

To hear, where lately buzzing swarms were heard,
A lonely bee long roving here and there
To find a single flower, but all in vain;
Then, rising quick, and with a louder hum,
In widening circles round and round his head,
Straight by the listener flying clear away,
As if to bid the fields a last adieu;

To hear, within the woodland's sunny side,
Late full of music, nothing, save, perhaps,

The sound of nut-shells, by the squirrel dropped

From some tall beech, fast falling through the leaves.

On the Loss of Professor Fisher.—BRAINARD.

THE breath of air, that stirs the harp's soft string,
Floats on to join the whirlwind and the storm;
The drops of dew, exhaled from flowers of spring,
Rise, and assume the tempest's threatening form;
The first mild beam of morning's glorious sun,

Ere night, is sporting in the lightning's flash;
And the smooth stream, that flows in quiet on,
Moves but to aid the overwhelming dash
That wave and wind can muster, when the might
Of earth, and air, and sea, and sky unite.

So science whispered in thy charmed ear,
And radiant learning beckoned thee away.
The breeze was music to thee, and the clear

Beam of thy morning promised a bright day.
And they have wrecked thee!-But there is a shore
Where storms are hushed, where tempests never rag;
Where angry skies and blackening seas no more
With gusty strength their roaring warfare wage.

By thee its peaceful margent shall be trod-
Thy home is heaven, and thy Friend is God.

Idle Words.-ANONYMOUS.

I have a high sense of the virtue and dignity of the female character; and would not, by any means, be thought to attribute to the ladies emphatically, the fault here spoken of. But I have remarked it in some of my friends, who, in all but this, were among the loveliest of their sex. In such, the blemish is more distinct and striking, because so strongly contrasted with the superior delicacy and loveliness of their natures.

"MY GOD!" the beauty oft exclaimed,
With deep impassioned tone-

But not in humble prayer she named
The High and Holy One!

'Twas not upon the bended knee,

With soul upraised to heaven,

Pleading, with heartfelt agony,
That she might be forgiven.

"Twas not in heavenly strains to raise
To the great Source of good

Her daily offering of praise,
Her song of gratitude.

But in the gay and thoughtless crowd,
And in the festive hall,

'Mid scenes of mirth and mockery proud,
She named the Lord of All.

She called upon that awful name,
When laughter loudest rang-
Or when the flush of triumph came-
Or disappointment's pang!

The idlest thing that flattery knew,
The most unmeaning jest,

From those sweet lips profanely drew
Names of the Holiest !

I thought-How sweet that voice would be,
Breathing this prayer to heaven-
"My God, I worship only thee;

O, be my sins forgiven!"

He knoweth our Frame, He remembereth we are Dust.DANA.

THOU, who didst form us with mysterious powers,
Didst give a conscious soul, and call it ours,
"Tis thou alone who know'st the strife within;
Thou'lt kindly judge, nor name each weakness sin.
Thou art not man, who only sees in part,
Yet deals unsparing with a brother's heart;
For thou look'st in upon the struggling throng
That war-the good with ill-the weak with strong.
And those thy hand hath wrought of finer frame,
When grief o'erthrows the mind, thou wilt not blame.
-"It is enough!" thou'lt say, and pity show;

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Thy pain shall turn to joy, thou child of wo!

Thy heart find rest-thy dark mind clear away,
And thou sit in the peace of heaven's calm day!"

Immortality.-Dana.*

Is this thy prison-house, thy grave, then, Love?
And doth death cancel the great bond that holds
Commingling spirits? Are thoughts that know no bounds,
But, self-inspired, rise upward, searching out
The Eternal Mind-the Father of all thought-
Are they become mere tenants of a tomb?-
Dwellers in darkness, who the illuminate realms

* We scarcely know where, in the English language, we could point out a finer extract than this,-of the same character. It has a softened grandeur worthy of the subject; especially in the noble paragraph commencing " O. listen, man!"-ED.

Of uncreated light have visited and lived?—
Lived in the dreadful splendor of that throne,
Which One, with gentle hand the vail of flesh
Lifting, that hung 'twixt man and it, revealed
In glory?-throne, before which, even now,
Our souls, moved by prophetic power, bow down,
Rejoicing, yet at their own natures awed?—
Souls that Thee know by a mysterious sense,
Thou awful, unseen Presence-are they quenched,
Or burn they on, hid from our mortal eyes
By that bright day which ends not; as the sun
His robe of light flings round the glittering stars?

And with our frames do perish all our loves? Do those that took their root and put forth buds, And their soft leaves unfolded in the warmth Of mutual hearts, grow up and live in beauty, Then fade and fall, like fair unconscious flowers? Are thoughts and passions that to the tongue give speech, And make it send forth winning harmonies,That to the cheek do give its living glow,

And vision in the eye the soul intense

With that for which there is no utterance-
Are these the body's accidents?—no more?—
To live in it, and when that dies, go out
Like the burnt taper's flame?

O, listen, man!
A voice within us speaks that startling word,
"Man, thou shalt never die!" Celestial voices
Hymn it unto our souls: according harps,
By angel fingers touched when the mild stars
Of morning sang together, sound forth still

The song of our great immortality:

Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain,
The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas,
Join in this solemn, universal song.

O, listen, ye, our spirits; drink it in

From all the air! "Tis in the gentle moonlight;

'Tis floating 'midst day's setting glories; Night,
Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step
Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears:

Night, and the dawn, bright day, and thoughtful eve,
All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse,

As one vast mystic instrument, are touched

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