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Of the earth, to return with no to-morrow;
Are but golden gates to the temple of sorrow!”
EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRLS' SCHOOL. This is one of the many beautiful compositions of Mrs. HEMANS, whose poetry has this remarkable character, that, beautiful as it is in portions, it will not bear to be read continuously in a volume. Perhaps this is the consequence of the perfection of its mechanism, for in rhythm and rhyme-in the music of verse-she is unrivalled. Pleasing at first, this unbroken smoothness palls by repetition and becomes monotony. Nevertheless, many of her minor poems are full of the truest poetry of thought, and the strain is in exquisite harmony with the sentiment. Such a poem is the following. Hush ! 'tis a holy hour—the quiet room
Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds A faint and starry radiance through the gloom
And the sweet stillness, down on bright young heads, With all their clustering locks, untouch'd by care, And bow'd, as flowers are bow'd at night, in prayer. Gaze on,-'tis lovely!--childhood's lip and cheek,
Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thoughtGaze-yet what seest thou in those fair, and meek,
And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought? Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky, What Death must fashion for eternity!
Oh! joyous creatures, that will sink to rest
Lightly, when those pure orisons are done, As buds with slumber's honey-dew oppress'd,
'Midst the dim folded leaves at set of sun-
Of hope make melody where'er ye tread;
Of spirits visiting but youth, be spread;
Her lot is on you—silent tears to weep,
And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour, And sunless riches, froin affections deep,
To pour on broken reeds a wasted shower ; And to make idols, and to find them clay, And to bewail that worship—therefore pray! Her lot is on you—to be found untired,
Watching the stars out by the bed of pain,
And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain-
With its low murmuring sounds of silvery light,
As a sweet dew to keep your souls from blight.
EDGAR ALLAN POE, an American, is the author of this fanciful lyric, which is thoroughly original in its structure, turn of thought and ex. pression—a sportive and almost careless composition, but a flash of true genius.
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
By the name of Annabel Lee;
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea :
I and my Annabel Lee-
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
And bore her away from me,
In this kingdom by the sea.
Went envying her and me--
In this kingdom by the sea)
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
Of those who were older than we
Of many far wiser than we-
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
Under this title we purpose to string together short passages of peculiar beauty, scattered among the larger productions of the poets. Where italic is used it is with intent to direct the particular attention of the reader to some fine thought for which it is remarkable.
On his shoulders Night
Grimly retired, as up th' ethereal steep
J. F. PENNIE.
RUINS. Among the ruin'd temples there, Stupendous columns, and wild images Of more than man, where marble demons watch The Zodiac's brazen mystery, and dead men Hang their mute thoughts on the mute walls around.
In pictured speech, and others have wax'd loud
AN OLD TALE.
'Tis a ditty