Thy sweet thoughts breathe, from love's delicious clime, Beauty in youth, and faith in fading age; Through all earth's years of travail, strife, and toil, In the young beauty of thy womanhood Draw near, ye whom my bosom hath enshrined ! Whose love, like sunlight, rests upon thy brow! But blessings crown us in our own still home- Hail, ye fair charities! the mellow showers STANZAS WRITTEN BY THE SEASIDE. BY MISS JEWSBURY. ONE evening as the Sun went down, I was not lonely;-dwellings fair And on the sea, that look'd of gold, The breezy murmur from the shore,- -- The whistle shrill,-the broken song,- I look'd, I listen'd,-and the spell So radiant on my heart, That scarcely durst I really deem 'Twas sunset in the world around ;- Nor grief, nor mirth, were burning there, But moods like these, the human mind, But though all pleasures take their flight, Yet some will leave memorials bright For many an after year; This sunset, that dull night will shade,—These visions, which must quickly fade, Will half-immortal memory braid For me, when far from here! THE NORTHERN STAR. WRITTEN AT TYNEMOUTH, NORTHUMBERLAND. "THE Northern Star Sailed o'er the Bar, Bound to the Baltic Sea : In the morning gray She stretched away 'Twas a weary day to me. 'And many an hour, In sleet and shower, By the lighthouse rock I stray, And watch till dark For the winged bark Of him that's far away. 'The Churchyard's bound Among the grassy graves; But all I hear Is the North wind drear, And all I see, the waves!' Oh roam not there, Thou mourner fair, Nor pour the fruitless tear! Thy plaint of woe Is all too low The dead, they cannot hear. The Northern Star Is set afar, Set in the raging sea; And the billows spread O'er the sandy bed, That holds thy love from thee! THE GIRL AND THE HAWK. FROM A PICTURE BY NEWTON. BY ALARIC A. WATTS. GRACEFUL" Phantom of delight!" But she may not vie with thee!— Though an angel's grace is thine, Though the light is half divine, That with chasten'd lustre flashes From beneath thine eyes' dark lashes; Yet thy thoughtful forehead fair, And that sweetly pensive air, Speak thee but of mortal birth, An erring, witching child of earth; In each varied mood revealing Human hope and human feeling. |