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The silent, soft, and humble heart,
In the Violet's hidden sweetness breathes ;
A twine of Evergreen fondly wreathes.
The Cypress, that daily shades the grave,
Is sorrow that mourns her bitter lot ;
Speaks in thy blue leaves, Forget-me-Not.
Here is the commencement of his fine poem, The Coral Grove :
Deep in the wave is a coral grove,
Where the sea-Aower spreads its leaves of blue,
The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift,
And the pearl-shells spangle the Ainty snow ;
Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow;
For the winds and waves are absent there,
In the motionless fields of the upper air.
The sea-Aag streams through the silent water,
To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter.
Mrs. SIGOURNEY's productions, mostly didactic, have long enjoyed a deserved popularity. Her lines, To an early Blue-Bird, form a pleasing picture :
Blue-bird ! on yon leafless tree,
Spring is coming—Spring is here !"
Clouds are sweeping o'er the sky,
There are some beautiful and pathetic lines by PIERPONT, entitled Passing Away, commencing :
Was it the chime of a tiny bell,
That came so sweet to my dreaming ear,
That he winds on the beach so mellow and clear,
She dispensing her silvery light,
And he his notes, as silvery quite,
Hark! the notes, on my ear that play,
“Passing away! passing away !”
His lines on the loss of his Child are full of natural pathos :
I cannot make him dead! His fair, sunshiny head
Is ever bounding round my study chair :
The vision vanishes-he is not there!
I hear a foot-fall on my chamber stair ;
I'm stepping toward the hall to give the boy a call;
And then bethink me that—he is not there! I thread the crowded street ; a satchelled lad I meet,
With the same beaming eyes and coloured hair : And, as he's running by, follow him with my eye, Scarcely believing that-he is not there! *
* I cannot make him dead! When passing by the bed,
So long watched over with parental care,
Before the thought comes that—he is not there!
DRAKE has enriched American literature by a remarkable poem, The Culprit Fay ; which discovers exquisite fancy and rare poetic beauty. The scene is laid in the Highlands of the Hudson, and the subject is a fairy story, decked with all the dainty accessories of Fairyland and forest scenery. The origin of the poem is traced to a conversation with Cooper, the novelist, and Halleck, the poet, who, speaking of the Scottish streams and their romantic associations, insisted that our own rivers were unsusceptible of the like poetic uses. Drake thought otherwise, and, to make his position good, produced, in three days after, this exquisite fairy tale. The opening passage of the poem is a description of moonlight on the Highlands of the Hudson :
'Tis the middle watch of a summer's night-
And seems his huge gray form to throw
The stars are on the moving stream,
And Aing, as its ripples gently Aow,
In an eel-like, spiral line below;
The bat in the shelvy rock is hid,
Of the gauze-winged katy-did ;
Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings
Till morning spreads her rosy wings, And earth and sky in her glances glow.
Here we have introduced to us the Fairy culprit :
Wrapt in musing stands the sprite ;
But he felt new joy his bosom swell,