My spirit too hath swept in flight
The gulf Time's sentries guard;
A maid thou saw'st not met my sight-
Thy pardon, deathless bard!

The glory of the Sun was fled,
All Nature shrunk aghast;

And midst whole nations of the dead,
The last man breathed his last!

That maiden stood, the last to die,
With pride upon her lip:
And rouge, that hid the tutored sigh,
Was there in fellowship.

A treasured volume, open there,
Revealed of things to come-
How low a bosom maids could wear
For "evening dress at home."

Her dearest treasures round her strewn;

A whalebone vesture here;

Pearls, plumes, puffs, patches, things unknown;
Lo! there a broad cashmere.

The last of lap-dogs, hushed in death,
On gauzy night-gowns lay;
Cosmetic powders flung their breath
From jars in long array.

Vases of odor, curling tongs

But vain the whole to tell :

Such store to Moslem's heaven belongs,
Such things the Jew-men sell.

An arsenal sure, well stored with charms,
For heart-siege or blockade;

That lone one stood in muslin charms,
With flounce de fleurs arrayed.

Upon a mirror's silver face

She shot an arrowy glance, Restored a ringlet to its place,

Then eyed pale Sol askance.

'Ha! Sun, for ever Beauty's dread"—

She shook her jewelled hand—
"Ha! now thy fearful power is fled,

See, all unveiled I stand!

"The haughty of the earth have bowed;
Ay, kings have bent their knee,
And all in awe the smitten crowd
Have poured their praise to me.

"But I have wept for wounded pride
As on my shame I thought;
And vainly strove with paste to hide
The mischief thou hast wrought!

"Discrownéd king! no more I flee
With trembling from thy frown:
Strange that a power should ever be
To change the lily brown!

"My noblest conquest now is won;
Would that the dead could see!

Like dying lover, lo! the Sun

Gives his last look to me!

"Go, tell the night that robs thy face'
Of charms can nought restore,

'Thou saw'st the last of Fashion's race'

Go, tell the dress she wore!"

THE CAPTIVE FLOWER.

The following lines were intended for the Album of a lady, who, forgetful that light is necessary to vegetable being, incarcerated her exotics, during the Winter, in a cellar where "all was black." They were designed to form one of a series which the author was about to publish under the title of "The Madhouse Papers."

I had a dream and yet, methought,

It was not all a dream:

Mid darkness brooding wide I sought,

But found no cheering beam.

At first there was one flickering ray
Which shot athwart the gloom;
Like ghastly smile on rotting clay,
Within the cold, damp tomb.

Long hours I strove, with painful gasp,
To catch one breath of light;
But at my throat a demon's grasp
Seemed laid with deadly might.

That glimmer fled; I cursed my birth;
I cursed the sun that gave;

For darkness pressed like trodden earth
Upon a live man's grave.

Cold on my limbs, as on the dead,

A clammy mould there came;

Foul, slimy worms crawled there and fed;
They gnawed my wasting frame.

A fire-fly once came flitting by ;
A moment-it was gone:

I saw (and prayed that I might die,)
A sister's skeleton.

TRUST IN HEAVEN.

Gladness within a cottage-home!

Gladness upon the breezy main!
Yon gallant bark, that rides the foam,
Is near her native port again.

There's one for days hath watched the gale,
From earliest morn to latest even;

Her

eye first caught yon snowy sail,

A speck upon the far-off heaven.

And now her many fears are o'er ;

Thou wouldst not blame her frantic joy! Her bosom's treasure comes once more: Thy father comes, thou cherub-boy!

But speed thee, husband, speed thy bark,
Bethink thee of the setting sun;
And see the clouds are gathering dark;
Now speed thee ere the day is done.

Fierce lightnings flash athwart the sky;
The tempest in its fearful wrath,
Lifting the billows mountain-high,
Is out upon the seaman's path.

NOW HEAVEN be with that plunging bark!
Almighty power alone can keep;
Hark to the rolling thunder! hark!
Oh, Mercy! still the raging deep!

"Oh, God! oh, GOD! this awful night!"
And she who spoke was ghastly pale-
"Oh, hush thee, boy!-Can human might-
At hour like this, can aught avail?

"Yes, He who hears a raven cry,

The raging of the storm can stay;

Our God! our GOD! to thee on high;
Kneel down, my child, kneel down and pray.

Oh, hear us, Father, from above!

He sure will hear thy sinless prayer

Have mercy, HEAVEN, on him we love!
Oh, grant him thine almighty care!"

A fearful crash went up to heaven;
That fated bark was seen no more;
One splintered mast to shore was driven,
Which one alone to safety bore.

Eternal Truth himself hath spoken!
Then, mortal, hold! nor rashly dare
To think His promise can be broken!
Our Heavenly Father heareth prayer!

THE YOUNG MOTHER.

Mark yonder scene: a cherub boy,
With lisping shout and frolic glee,
Which well betoken Childhood's joy,
Is climbing to his mother's knee.

And radiant is that mother's face

With all the charms which beauty lends; And hers the form of seraph grace,

Which o'er the sculptor's slumber bends.

And smiles are o'er her beauty stealing,
Irradiate with the light of thought;
Unuttered tones, yet well revealing

The love with which her heart is fraught.

The roguish boy! his sportive hands
Have torn the roses from her hair,
And loosed her tresses from their bands
Upon a bosom snowy fair.

And she has only pressed a kiss

Of burning fervor on his brow,

As if she felt too much of bliss

To give one word of chiding now.

Oh, if thine heart be weighed with sadness,
Which makes the spirit pine to go,

Then gaze upon this scene of gladness,
And learn that there is bliss below.

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