Thy verdant, calm retreat Inspires the sad and soothes the troubled breast. When, at the twilight hour, Plays through thy tressil crown the sun's last gleam, Under thy ancient bower The schoolboy comes to sport, the bard to dream. And when the moonbeams fall Through thy broad canopy upon the grass, Making a fairy hall, As o'er the sward the flitting shadows pass,— Then lovers haste to thee, With hearts that tremble like that shifting light, LUCY HOOPER. Born at Newburyport, Mass: 1816-died 1841. DEATH AND LIFE. Nor unto thee, oh! pale and radiant Death! Aught, aught of joy on me: Yet unto thee, oh! monarch robed and crown'd, I bring no incense. Though the heart be chill, Shines not as once the wonted light of day, Shall all be duly paid; and though thy voice And woos one to that pillow of calm rest, I pay my vows. Though now to me thy brow But thou, oh Life! oh Life! the searching test Turn not from that dread test. But let me pay my vows to thee, oh Life! Released from earthly hope, or earthly fear. This, this, oh Life! be mine. Let others strive thy glowing wreaths to bind, Let others seek thy false and dazzling gleams,For me their light went out on early streams, And faded were thy roses in my grasp, No more, no more to bloom. Yet as the stars, the holy stars of night, So would I, cheer'd by hopes more purely bright, EPES SARGENT.* Born at Gloucester, Mass: 1816 SUMMER IN THE HEART. THE cold blast at the casement beats, The snow whirls through the empty streets,- Sit down, old friend; the wine-cups wait For we full many summer joys And greenwood sports have shared, When, free and ever-roving boys, The rocks, the streams we dared! And, as I look upon thy face, Back, back o'er years of ill,- Where it is summer still! Yes! though, like sere leaves on the ground Our early hopes are strown, And cherish'd flowers lie dead around, And singing birds are flown,— Fill up the olden times come back Gone is the winter's angry gloom: In our hearts 'tis summer still! *See Note 18. L O YE KEEN BREEZES. O YE keen breezes from the salt Atlantic, Which to the beach where memory loves to wander, For, in the surf ye scatter'd to the sunshine, Then to the meadows beautiful and fragrant, There under elm-trees affluent in foliage, Vainly the sailor call'd slumber : you from your Like a glazed pavement shone the level ocean; While, with the snow-white canvas idly drooping, Stood the tall vessels. And when, at length, exulting ye awaken'd, Playmates, old playmates, hear my invocation! When shall I feel your breath upon my forehead? Friends of my boyhood? CHARLES GAMAGE EASTMAN. A SNOW-STORM IN VERMONT. I. 'Tis a fearful night in the winter time, The roar of the blast is heard, like the chime The moon is full, but her silver light The storm dashes out with its wings to night; II. All day had the snow come down,—all day, And over the hills at sunset lay Some two or three feet, or more; The fence was lost, and the wall of stone; The night sets in on a world of snow, And the Norther!-See! on the mountain peak, III. Such a night as this to be found abroad, In the drifts and the freezing air,- |