Near, like a wilderness of bloom,
Waved the gold banners of the broom-
Light as the graceful maiden's shape,
And sunny as the curls that 'scape
From the blue snood with which her care
Has had such pride to braid her hair.

The Lake was that deep blue, which night
Wears in the zenith moon's full light;
With pebbles shining through, like gems
Lighting sultana's diadems:

A little isle laid on its breast,
A fairy gift in its sweet rest.

There stood a convent once-bright eyes
Wasted their light, soft lips their sighs.
Oh! who can say how much each cell
Has known of youth and hope's farewell-
Of midnight vigil, when each prayer
Laid all the burning bosom bare,

Of those who bow'd not down to sleep,
Of those whom they alone saw weep?
Or it might tell of those who sought
The peacefulness of holy thought—
The broken heart, the bleeding breast,
That turn'd them to a place of rest.
All is forgotten there is not

:

More than trace to mark the spot
So holy once; just a stain'd stone,
Broken, and with gray moss o'ergrown;
A fragment of a shatter'd wall;
One fallen arch; and these are all.
Wild roses, with their summer glow,

Are tenants of the island now;
Upon the graves of those who were

Once lovely as themselves.

THE VANISHED STAR.

WILLIAM HARPER.

THE night was dark, the wind was loud,
The ghostly clouds went fleeting by,
When, turning on my couch, I saw
A lonely star was in the sky.

And thus methought :-My Mary, thou
Wast e'er to me in sorrow's night,
When loud the storm, and dark the clouds,
A ruling star, a guiding light.

But thou art gone; the night is dark,
On cloudy wings the tempests fly;
There is no light within my heart,--

The star has faded from the sky.

My sweet one, my sweet one, the tears were in my eyes When first I clasp'd thee to my heart, and heard thy feeble cries;—

For I thought of all that I had borne as I bent me down

to kiss

Thy cherry cheeks and sunny brow, my first-born bud of bliss!

I turn'd to many a wither'd hope,-to years of grief and

pain,—

And the cruel wrongs of a bitter world flash'd o'er my boding brain ;

I thought of friends, grown worse than cold, of persecuting foes,-

And I ask'd of Heaven, if ills like these must mar thy youth's repose.

I gaz'd upon thy quiet face-half blinded by my tears-'Till gleams of bliss, unfelt before, came brightening on my fears,

Sweet rays of hope that fairer shone 'mid the clouds of gloom that bound them,

As stars dart down their loveliest light when midnight skies are round them.

My sweet one, my sweet one, thy life's brief hour is o'er, And a father's anxious fears for thee can fever me no

more;

And for the hopes-the sun-bright hopes-that blossom'd at thy birth,

They too have fled, to prove how frail are cherish'd things of earth!

'Tis true that thou wert young, my child, but though brief thy span below,

To me it was a little age of agony and woe;

For, from thy first faint dawn of life thy cheek began to

fade,

And my heart had scarce thy welcome breathed ere my hopes were wrapt in shade.

Oh the child, in its hours of health and bloom, that is dear as thou wert then,

Grows far more prized-more fondly loved-in sickness and in pain;

And thus 'twas thine to prove, dear babe, when every hope was lost,

Ten times more precious to my soul-for all that thou hadst cost!

Cradled in thy fair mother's arms, we watch'd thee, day by day,

Pale like the second bow of Heaven, as gently waste

away;

And, sick with dark foreboding fears we dared not breathe

aloud,

Sat, hand in hand, in speechless grief to wait death's coming cloud.

It came at length;-o'er thy bright blue eye the film was gathering fast,

And an awful shade pass'd o'er thy brow, the deepest and

the last ;

--we raised thy droop

In thicker gushes strove thy breath,--v

ing head,―

A moment more—the final pang-and thou wert of the dead!

Thy gentle mother turn'd away to hide her face from me, And murmur'd low of heaven's behests, and bliss attain'd by thee;

She would have chid me that I mourn'd a doom so bless'd

as thine,

Had not her own deep grief burst forth in tears as wild as mine.

We laid thee down in thy sinless rest, and from thine infant brow

Cull'd one soft lock of radiant hair-our only solace

now,

Then placed around thy beauteous corse, flowers-not more fair and sweet

Twin rose-buds in thy little hands, and jasmine at thy feet.

Though other offspring still be ours, as fair perchance as

thou,

With all the beauty of thy cheek-the sunshine of thy

brow,