THE CONTRAST. BY WILLIS G. CLARK, ESQ. I. Ir was the morning of a day in spring, The sun looked gladness from the eastern sky; And all the air was rich with melody; The heaven, the calm, clear heaven was bright on high; Earth laughed beneath, in all its freshening green; The free, blue stream, in joy went murmuring by, And many a sunny glade and flowery scene, Gleamed out, like thoughts of youth, life's troubled years between. II. The rose's breath upon the south wind came, The murmur of the restless humming-bird; Waters were dancing in the mellow light, As waits on soft sweet tones of music heard at night. III. The night dews lay in the half-opened flower, IV. Songs were amid the mountains far and wide, 'Twas a bright vision, but too soon to die: Autumn, in storm and shade, shall quench the summer sheen. V. I came again;-'t was autumn's stormy hour, And torrent murmurs broke the solitude, Where, straying lonely, as with steps of fear, I marked the deepening gloom that shrouds the fading year. VI. The ruffled lake heaved wildly; near the shore It bore the red leaves of the shaken tree, Shed in the violent north wind's restless roarEmblems of man upon life's stormy sea: Pale, withered leaves! once to the breezes free, They waved in spring and summer's golden prime; Now, even as clouds or dew, how fast they flee! Weak, trembling on the boughs in autumn's clime, As man sinks down in death, chilled by the touch of time. VII. I looked again; and fast the dying sun Sending his fitful gleams, through clouds of dun, He lit the dew-drop's cold and frozen rest, That slept on yellow leaves the woods among; The sered earth's flowers that did the glades invest, Had perished, and were buried where they sprung, While the wild autumn wind their mournful requiem sung! VIII. I marked the picture;—'t was the changeful scene Which life holds up to the observant eye; Youth's spring of gladness, and its bowers of green, The streaming sunlight of its morning sky, And the dark clouds of Death, that linger by! Yet oft, when life is fresh and hope is strong, Shall sorrow fill with tears the youthful eye, And age to death move peacefully along, As on the singer's lip expires the finished song! Philadelphia. THE NEGLECTED CHILD. BY THOMAS H. BAYLY, ESQ. I. I never was a favourite My mother never smiled On me, with half the tenderness I've turned away to hide my tears,— There was no kiss for me! II. And yet I strove to please, with all My little store of sense; I strove to please, and infancy Can rarely give offence : But when my artless efforts met I did not dare to throw myself, |