A PARALLEL. THE waves that on the sparkling sand The summer winds, which wandering sigh So gently as they murmur by, Scarce lift the drooping flower. Thus worldly cares, though lightly borne, And spirits, which their bonds would spurn, The blighting traces find. Till alter'd thoughts and hearts grown cold The change of passing years unfold. LAKE GEORGE. NoT in the banner'd castle, Beside the gilded throne, On fields where knightly ranks have strode, The spirit of the stately mien, Breathes from the woods and sky, Proudlier these rocks and waters speak Here nature built her ancient realm Unshaken stand, and strong. Here shines the sun of Freedom Where Freedom's heroes by the shore In peaceful glory sleep; And deeds of high and proud emprize The everlasting tribute To hearts that now are cold. Farewell, then, scenes so lovely! The water's silvery breast Or morning on these glad, green isles TO THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. BIRD of the lone and joyless night, Whence is thy sad and solemn lay? Attendant on the pale moon's light, Why shun the garish blaze of day? When darkness fills the dewy air, Nor sounds the song of happier bird, Alone, amid the silence, there Thy wild and plaintive note is heard. Thyself unseen, thy pensive moan Pour'd in no living comrade's ear, The forest's shaded depths alone Thy mournful melody can hear. Beside what still and secret spring, In what dark wood, the livelong day, Sitt'st thou, with dusk and folded wing, To while the hours of light away? Sad minstrel thou hast learn'd, like me, That life's deceitful gleam is vain; And well the lesson profits thee, Who will not trust its charm again. Thou, unbeguiled, thy plaint dost trill Believe, to be deceived once more. SONG. COME, fill a pledge to sorrow, And if there's sunshine in our hearts, As round the swift hours passToo kind were fate, if none but gems -Should sparkle in Time's glass. The dregs and foam together Unite to crown the cup And well we know the weal and wo That fill life's chalice up! Life's sickly revellers perish, The goblet scarcely drain'd; Then lightly quaff, nor lose the sweets Which may not be retain❜d. What reck we that unequal Its varying currents swell The tide that bears our pleasures down, Buries our griefs as well. And if the swift-wing'd tempest Have cross'd our changeful day, Then grieve not that naught mortal A mantling pledge to sorrow; JAMES ALDRICH. [Born, 1810.] JAMES ALDRICH was born near the Hudson, in | daughter of Mr. JOHN B. LYON, of Newport, Rhode the county of Suffolk, on the tenth of July, 1810. He received his education partly in Orange county, and partly in the city of New York, where, early in life, he became actively engaged in mercantile business. In 1836 he was married to MATILDA, Island, and in the same year relinquished the occupation of a merchant. He has since devoted his attention entirely to literature; and has edited two or three popular periodicals. He resides in New York. MORN AT SEA. CLEARLY, with mental eye, Where the first slanted ray of sunlight springs, In youth's divinest glow, She stands upon a wandering cloud of dew, The child of light and air! O'er land or wave, where'er her pinions move, The shapes of earth are clothed in hues of love And truth, divinely fair. Athwart this wide abyss, On homeward way impatiently I drift; O, might she bear me now where sweet flowers lift Their eyelids to her kiss! Her smile hath overspread The heaven-reflecting sea, that evermore Is tolling solemn knells from shore to shore Most like an angel-friend, With noiseless footsteps, which no impress leave, She comes in gentleness to those who grieve, Bidding the long night end. How joyfully will hail, With reenliven❜d hearts, her presence fair, The hapless shipwreck'd, patient in despair, Watching a far-off sail. Vain all affection's arts To cheer the sick man through the night have been: How many, far from home, Have pray'd for her to come. Lone voyager on time's sea! A DEATH-BED. HER suffering ended with the day, And breathed the long, long night away, But when the sun, in all his state, Illumed the eastern skies, She pass'd through Glory's morning-gate, And walk'd in Paradise! MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. IN beauty lingers on the hills The death-smile of the dying day; I watch the river's peaceful flow, Here, standing by my mother's grave, And feel my dreams of glory go, Like weeds upon its sluggish wave. Gon gives us ministers of love, Which we regard not, being near; Death takes them from us-then we feel That angels have been with us here! As mother, sister, friend, or wife, They guide us, cheer us, soothe our pain; Hath fallen the free, repentant tear. Mid sweet remembrances of thee. The harvest of my youth is done, And manhood, come with all its cares, Finds, garner'd up within my heart, For every flower a thousand tares. Dear mother! couldst thou know my thoughts, Whilst bending o'er this holy shrine, The depth of feeling in my breast, Thou wouldst not blush to call me thine! A SPRING-DAY WALK. ADIEU, the city's ceaseless hum, The haunts of sensual life, adieu! Green fields, and silent glens! we come, To spend this bright spring-day with you. Whether the hills and vales shall gleam With beauty, is for us to choose; For leaf and blossom, rock and stream, Are colour'd with the spirit's hues. Here, to the seeking soul, is brought A nobler view of human fate, And higher feeling, higher thought, And glimpses of a higher state. Through change of time, on sea and shore, Serenely nature smiles away; Yon infinite blue sky bends o'er Our world, as at the primal day. The self-renewing earth is moved With youthful life each circling year; And flowers that CERES' daughter loved At Enna, now are blooming here. Glad nature will this truth reveal, That God is ours and we are His; O, friends, my friends! what joy to feel TO ONE FAR AWAY. SWIFTER far than swallow's flight, Homeward o'er the twilight lea; Swifter than the morning light, Flashing o'er the pathless sea, Dearest in the lonely night Memory flies away to thee! Stronger far than is desire; Firm as truth itself can be; Deeper than earth's central fire; Boundless as the circling sea; Yet as mute as broken lyre, Is my love, dear wife, for thee! Sweeter far than miser's gain, Or than note of fame can be Unto one who long in vain Treads the paths of chivalryAre my dreams, in which again My fond arms encircle thee! BEATRICE. UNTOUCH'D by mortal passion, Such spiritual expression As thy sweet features wear. How gladly, hand in hand, To some new world I'd fly with thee From off this mortal strand. LINES. UNDERNEATH this marble cold, Its Gon-given serenity. One, whose form of youthful grace, Near us glide sometimes on earth, Wo is me! when I recall THE DREAMING GIRL. Subdued by some uncarthly charm. The amber tints that daylight gave, Upon a fainting summer-wave. Faints and glows like a dying flame; All night breathing odorous sighs, Which her lattice dimly curtains, The morn peeps in with his bright eyes. Perfume loved when it is vanish'd, Pleasure hardly felt ere banish'd, Is the happy maiden's vision, That doth on her memory gleam, And her heart leaps up with gladnessThat bliss was nothing but a dream! |