EVENING. WHEN eve is purpling cliff and cave, Not softer on the western wave The golden lines of sunset glow. Then all, by chance or fate removed, The few we liked, - the one we loved! And the whole heart is memory. And life is like a fading flower, Its beauty dying as we gaze; Yet, as the shadows round us lower, Heaven pours above a brighter blaze. 1 When morning sheds its gorgeous dye, Our hope, our heart, to earth is given; But dark and lonely is the eye That turns not, at its eve, to Heaven! REV. G. CROLY. THE SLEEPING SLAVE. AY, sleep!-alas! the day's at hand; On tree and flower the morn-dews stand; The risen sun will spring to view, And thou must meet him from the wave, 'Midst flowers, and dews, and light-a Slave! Yet sleep!-that hour is all thine own; And dreams may on its wings be strown, Bright, as if wafted from afar By genii guests of moon or star, Brighter than on his eyes may rest, The slumbering lord of east or west. Dream, wretched one, -but not of time, Nor e'en thine own remembered clime! Dream not of mother, wife, or boy, Of childhood's games, or freedom's joy; Forget thy native valley's stream, Forget thy father's house, yet dream! Dream of a world beyond the grave; 'Tis broad, but in its walks no slave! Of Heaven, where many mansions be, Of Him, who orders one for thee, Of Him, who notes thy tears and sighs, Dream thus and conquer, Slave, arise! MISS JEWSBURY. DIRGE. WHERE shall we make her grave? Oh! where the wild-flowers wave In the free air! Where shower and singing-bird 'Midst the young leaves are heard, There, lay her there! Harsh was the world to her, Now may sleep minister Balm for each ill. Low on sweet Nature's breast Let the meek heart find rest, Deep, deep and still! Murmur, glad waters, by! Faint gales, with happy sigh, |