The haughtiest breast its wish might bound,
Through life to dwell delighted here;
Nor could on earth a spot be found

To nature and to me so dear.

Could thy dear eyes, in following mine,
Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine!

FADED FLOWERS.

BY MRS. SARAH HELEN WHITMAN.

REMEMBRANCERS of happiness! to me

Ye bring sweet thoughts of the year's purple prime,

Wild, mingling melodies of bird and bee

That pour on summer winds their silvery chime; And of rich incense, burdening all the air,

From flowers that by the sunny garden wall Bloom'd at your side,-nursed into beauty there By dews and silent showers; but these to all Ye bring. Oh! sweeter far than these the spell Shrined in those fairy urns for me alone, For me a charm sleeps in each honey'd cell Whose power can call back hours of rapture flown,

To the sad heart sweet memories restore, Tones, looks, and words of love that may return no more.

But to the even song;

And having pray'd together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay as you, We have as short a spring;

As quick a growth to meet decay, As you or any thing.

We die,

As your hours do, and dry

Away,

Like to the summer's rain, Or as the pearls of morning's dew,

Ne'er to be found again.

WHITE ROSES.

BY SARAH LOUISA P. SMITH.

THEY were gather'd for a bridal!
I knew it by their hue:
Fair as the summer moonlight
Upon the sleeping dew.
From their fair and fairy sisters
They were borne, without a sigh,
For one remember'd evening
To blossom and to die.

They were gather'd for a bridal!

And fasten'd in a wreath;

But purer were the roses

Than the heart that lay beneath;

Yet the beaming eye was lovely,
And the coral lip was fair,
And the gazer look'd and ask'd not
For the secret hidden there.

They were gather'd for a bridal!

Where a thousand torches glisten'd, When the holy words were spoken, And the false and faithless listen'd

And answered to the vow

Which another heart had taken,

Yet he was present then

The once loved, the forsaken.

They were gather'd for a bridal!
And now, now they are dying,
And young Love at the altar
Of broken faith is sighing.
Their summer life was stainless,

And not like her's who wore them;
They are faded, and the farewell
Of beauty lingers o'er them!

THE FURZE.

'MID scatter'd foliage, pale and sere, Thy kind floweret cheers the gloom; And offers to the waning year

The tribute of its golden bloom.

Beneath November's clouded sky,
In chill December's stormy hours,
Thy blossom meets the traveller's eye,
Gay as the buds of summer bowers.

Flower of the dark and wintry day!
Emblem of friendship! thee I hail!
Blooming when others fade away,

And brightest when their hues grow pale.

NIGHT-BLOOMING FLOWERS.

BY JULIET H. LEWIS.

FAIR buds! I've wander'd day by day
To this sequester'd spot,

That I might catch your earliest smiles,
And yet, you open not.

The morning mists are scattered now,
No cloud is in the sky,

The sun, like a benignant king,
Smiles from his throne on high;
While birds, in gushing melody,
Are offering homage up;

And sister flowers, beneath his gaze,
Ope wide each fragile cup.

Why shut you then your incense in,
And hide your loveliness,

As though no one might share your joy
Beneath the sun's caress?

Now wake you, 'tis the sunset hour,
The day-king has gone down;
Yet still, above the mountain's top,
Is seen his brilliant crown;
Awake you! if his gleaming gems,
His bands of glittering gold,
His glorious, life-like radiance,
Departing, you'd behold.