magazines. In 1847, he published Froissart Ballards' and other Poems, and was engaged in projecting other literary works, when he was suddenly arrested by death on the 20th of January, 1850, at the age of thirty-three. Most of what Mr. Cooke wrote and published is beautiful in itself, but is more interesting from the promise it gave of greater achievement; for had he lived he would doubtless have risen to much higher literary distinction. One of his pieces, however, must be rescued and preserved,—the delicate and beautiful love-song of 1 These are versified transcripts of old Sir John Froissart's Chronicles, and are admirably done. He says in his preface, "The reader may be disposed to undervalue poems professing to be versifications of old stories, on the ground of a want of originality. I ask only, in anticipation of this, that he will recollect the fact that, from Chaucer to Dryden, such appropriations of old story were customary with the noblest poets of our language." In the "Southern 2 "One of the daintiest lyrics in the language."-WILLIS. Literary Messenger" for June, 1858, is an excellent article on Mr. Cooke. The lilies of the valley By young graves weep, May their bloom, in beauty vying, Where thine earthly part is lying, LUCY HOOPER, 1816-1841. "And thou art gone! sweet daughter of the lyre, Gone from a circle who thy gifts have cherish'd Whose dearest hopes, with thee, have sadly perish'd, Prayer to be like thee, in so meekly bearing Both joy and sorrow from thy Maker's hand; And join thy anthem in the better land."-H. T. TUCKERMAN, LUCY HOOPER, the daughter of Mr. Joseph Hooper, a highly respectable merchant of Newburyport, Massachusetts, was born in that city on the 4th of February, 1816. She very early gave indications of that sweetness of character, that purity of taste, and that brightness of intellect, which were afterwards so beautifully developed and harmoniously blended; and her father took every pains that her native powers should have the benefit of the best training, and her progress in her studies was astonishing. At the age of fourteen, the family removed to Brooklyn, New York; and here, very soon after, she became an occasional contributor to the "Long Island Star." Though anonymous, her pieces were greatly admired and widely copied; and if they had not the merit of her later productions, every one must be struck with the melody of her versification, as well as the precocious strength and nervousness of her expression. Besides her compositions in verse, upon which Miss Hooper's fame chiefly rests, she was the author of many prose articles of a high order of merit. These were collected in a volume, and published in 1840, under the title of Scenes from Real Life: among them was the prize essay on "Domestic Happiness." But, like the Davidsons, Henry Kirke White, and others, her early brilliant career of usefulness was soon to close. Her health from her childhood had been delicate; but the loss of her devoted father, and other domestic afflictions, affected her very deeply, and accelerated the progress of her fatal malady,-consumption; and on the morning of the 1st of August, 1841, she gently fell asleep in Jesus. Seldom has the death of any one so young called forth so many testimonies of admiration. What she was, all can read and see; what she would probably have 1 One of these was a touching piece by J. G. Whittier, and another the few sweet lines, by H. T. Tuckerman, placed at the head of this article. become had she lived to a greater maturity of life and thought, we can imagine from the high promise of her early performance.' OSCEOLA.2 [Written upon seeing a picture of the Indian chief Osceola, drawn by Captain Vinton, of the United States Army, representing him as he appeared in the American camp.] Not on the battle-field, As when thy thousand warriors joy'd to meet thee, Leading them forth to die, Not thus, not thus we greet thee. But in a hostile camp, Lonely amidst thy foes, Thine arrows spent, Thy brow unbent, Yet wearing record of thy people's woes. Chief! for thy memories now, And the soft river laves The green and flower-crown'd banks it wanders by, The burnish'd rifle gleameth with strange light, Rest harmless here, Yet flash with startling radiance on the sight; Wake they thy glance of scorn, Thou of the folded arms and aspect stern,— 1 In 1842 appeared her Poetical Remains, 12mo, with a beautifully-written memoir by John Keese; and, in 1848, her Complete Poetical Works, in 8vo. 2 This was the noble Seminole chief who, in the "Second Seminole War," in 1837, being found invincible in open battle, was decoyed, by orders of General Jessup, into a conference, under the white flag of truce held sacred by all nations, and then surrounded by our troops, disarmed, and made a captive,—a transaction which should cover that officer's name with lasting infamy. To this, the following verse from Pierpont's bold, nervous, and truthful poem, "The Tuesin," alludes:-- "At Slavery's beck, the very hands Ye lift to Heaven, to swear ye're free, Yes,-tear a flag that Tartar hordes For a true account of the Florida War, read "The Exiles of Florida, or the Crimes committed by our Government against the Maroons, who fled from South Carolina and other Slave States, seeking Protection under Spanish Law," by Joshua R. Giddings,-a painfully-interesting narrative. Too many histories of the United States seem to have been written rather to conceal, than to tell the truth relative to certain transactions and subjects. "Bear witness, ghost of the great-hearted, broken-hearted Osceola!" Thou of the deep low tone,1 Kindred and friends alike may vainly yearn? Woe for the trusting hour! Oh, kingly stag! no hand hath brought thee down; 'Twas with a patriot's heart, Where fear usurp'd no part, Thou camest, a noble offering, and alone! For vain yon army's might, While for thy band the wide plain own'd a tree, Their trysting-place might be! Woe for thy hapless fate! Woe for thine evil times and lot, brave chief! Thy short and mournful glory, Thy high but hopeless struggle, brave and brief! Woe for the bitter stain That from our country's banner may not part! For burning pains, and slow, Are his who dieth of the fever'd heart. Oh! in that spirit-land, Where never yet the oppressor's foot hath past, Whose beauty mocks our dreams, EVENING THOUGHTS. Thou quiet moon, above the hill-tops shining, The student o'er his lonely volume bending, The pale enthusiast, joying in thy ray, And ever and anon his dim thoughts sending Nor these alone,-the pure and radiant eyes Of Youth and Hope look up to thee with love; Would it were thine,-meek dweller of the skies,To save from tears! but no! too far above This dim, cold earth thou shinest, richly flinging Thy soft light down on all who watch thy beam, And to the heart of Sorrow gently bringing The glories pictured in Life's morning stream, 1 Osceola vas remarkable for a soft and flute-like voice. As a loved presence back; oh! shine to me Joy's beacon-light! I know that trembling Care, Forgets his calling, that at day's dull close With thoughts of thee,-the while their vigil keeping, But unto me, thou still and solemn light, What may'st thou bring? high hope, unwavering trust Ordain'd thy coming, and on things of dust JOHN GODFREY SAXE. JOHN GODFREY SAXE, so widely known as "the witty poet," is the son of Hon. Peter Saxe, and was born in Highgate, Franklin County, Vermont, June 2, 1816. He was graduated at Middleburg College in 1839, studied law, was admitted to the bar in September, 1843, and entered upon the practice of his profession at St. Alban's, having in the mean time entered into "the holy bonds of matrimony" with one of the fair daughters of the Mountain State. All his leisure time he devoted to belles-lettres, which finally fairly won him from the law. In 1846, he delivered a poem before the Alumni of Middleburg College, called Progress, a Satire, which was a most successful performance and won for him a high reputation. In 1847 appeared his Rape of the Lock, and in 1848 his Proud Miss McBride, both of which excited great laughter for their rollicking humor, happy puns, and pungent philosophy combined. In 1850, Ticknor & Fields, of Boston, published his first volume of Poems, which soon ran through twelve editions. The same year he removed to Burlington, Vermont, and purchased the Sentinel, which he conducted for five years with marked success. Soon after he was elected State's Attorney, and, upon retiring from that office, was appointed Deputy-Collector of Customs. Of late years he has devoted his attention almost exclusively to literature, and now makes "lecturing" his sole vocation. So greatly does he excel in humorous and satirical poetry that he is constantly invited to address literary societies and Institutes," and his readings and recitations are always enthusiastically |