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Here indlustry to comfort led;
Here the warm heart of youth
Here hoary age was found,
No great but guilty fame
These chose the better, happier part,
Rich in the charities of life,
served their God."
I've felt it all-as thou art feeling now; Like thee, with stricken heart and aching brow, I've sat and watch'd by dying beauty's bed, And burning tears of hopeless anguish shed; I've gazed upon the sweet, but pallid face, And vainly tried some comfort there to trace; I've listen'd to the short and struggling breath; I've seen the cherub eye grow dim in death; Like thee, I've veil'd my head in speechless gloom, And laid my first-born in the silent tomb.
I SEE THEE STILL.
“I rock'd her in the cradle, And laid her in the tomb. She was the youngest. What fireside circle hath not felt the charm of that sweet tie? The youngest ne'er grew old. The fond endearments of our earlier days We keep alive in them, and when they die. Our youthful joys we bury with them."
In crowd-delighting voice;
And all the good rejoice.
I see thee still : Remembrance, faithful to her trust, Calls thee in beauty from the dust; Thou comest in the morning light, Thou'rt with me through the gloomy night: In dreams I meet thee as of old : Then thy soft arms my neck enfold, And thy sweet voice is in my ear: In every scene to memory dear
I see thee still.
'This be our story, then, in that far day, When others come their kindred debt to pay.
In that far day?-0, what shall be,
In this dominion of the free,
The dread response can make,
That time shall never shake :
To Him in reverence end;
And Thy good cause defend;
I see thee still, In every hallow'd token round; This little ring thy finger bound, This lock of hair thy forehead shaded, This silken chain by thee was braided, These flowers, all wither'd now, like thee, Sweet sister, thou didst cull for me ; This book was thine, here didst thou read, This picture, ah! yes, here, indeed,
I see thee still.
I see thee still : Here was thy summer noon's retreat, Here was thy favourite fireside seat; This was thy chamber-here, each day, I sat and watch'd thy sad decay; Here, on this bed, thou last didst lie, Here, on this pillow, thou didst die: Dark hour! once more its woes unfold; As then I saw thee, pale and cold,
I see thee still.
LINES TO A YOUNG MOTHER.
Young mother! what can feeble friendship say, To soothe the anguish of this mournful day? They, they alone, whose hearts like thine have bled, Know how the living sorrow for the dead; Each tutor'd voice, that seeks such grief to cheer, Strikes cold upon the weeping parent's ear; I've felt it all-alas! too well I know How vain all earthly power to hush thy wo! Gop cheer thee, childless mother! 't is not given For man to ward the blow that falls from heaven. ,
I see thee still : Thou art not in the grave confinedDeath cannot claim the immortal mind; Let earth close o'er its sacred trust, But goodness dies not in the dust ; Thee, O! my sister, 't is not thee Beneath the coffin's lid I see ; Thou to a fairer land art gone; There, let me hope, my journey done,
To see thee still
LINES ON THE DEATH OF M. S. C.
Sister and brother, and that faithful friend,
less night, With thee rise up and bless the morning light.
THE FAMILY MEETING.*
I knew that we must part-day after day, I saw the dread Destroyer win his way; That hollow cough first rang the fatal knell, As on my ear its prophet-warning fell ; Feeble and slow thy once light footstep grew, Thy wasting cheek put on death's pallid hue, Thy thin, hot hand to mine more weakly clung, Eich sweet “Good night" fell fainter from thy
tongue; I knew that we must part—no power could save Thy quiet goodness from an early grave; Those eyes so dull, though kind each glance they
cast, Looking a sister's fondness to the last; Thy lips so pale, that gently press'd my cheek, Thy voice-alas! thou couldst but try to speak; All told thy doom; I felt it at my heart; The shaft had struck-I knew that we must part.
And we have parted, MARY-thou art gone! Gone in thine innocence, meek, suffering one. Thy weary spirit breathed itself to sleep So peacefully, it seem'd a sin to weep, In those fond watchers who around thee stood, And felt, even then, that Gon, even then, was good. Like stars that struggle through the clouds of
night, Thine eyes one moment caught a glorious light, As if to thee, in that dread hour, 't were given To know on earth what faith belicves of heaven ; Then like tired breezes didst thou sink to rest, Nor one, one pang the awful change confess'd. Death stole in softness o'er that lovely face, And touch'd eåch feature with a new-born grace; On check and brow unearthly beauty lay, And told that life's poor cares had pass'd away. In my last hour be Heaven so kind to me! I ask no more than this to die like thee.
But we have parted, Marr-thou art dead! On its last resting-place I laid thy head, Then by thy coffin-side knelt down, and took A brother's farewell kiss and farewell look ; Those marble lips no kindred kiss return'd; From those veil'd orbs no glance responsive burn'd; Ah! then I felt that thou hadst pass'd away, That the sweet face I gazed on was but clay; And then came Memory, with her busy throng Of tender images, forgotten long; Years hurried back, and as they swiftly rollid, I saw thee, heard thee, as in days of old; Sad and more sad each sacred feeling grew; Manhood was moved, and Sorrow claim'd her due; Thick, thick and fast the burning tear-drops started; I turn'd away--and felt that we had parted.
But not forever-in the silent tomb, Where thou art laid, thy kindred shall find room; A little while, a few short years of pain, And, one by one, we'll come to thee again; The kind old father shall seek out the place, And rest with thee, the youngest of his race; The dear, dear mother, bent with age and grief, Shull lay her head by thine, in sweet relief;
We are all here!
We're all-all here.
We're not all here!
We're not all here.
We are all here!
We are all here.
We're all-al here!
Written on the nccidental meeting of all the surviring members of a family.
THE WINGED WORSHIPPERS.
Make this place to them the gate
Leading to thy courts on high. There, when time shall be no more,
When the feuds of earth are past, May the tribes of every shore
Congregate in peace at last ! Then to Thee, thou Ose all-wise,
Shall the gather'd millions sing, Till the arches of the skies
With their hallelujahs ring.
TO MY CIGAR.
Gar, guiltless pair, What seek ye from the fields of heaven?
Ye have no need of prayer, Ye have no sins to be forgiven.
Why perch ye here, Where mortals to their Maker bend?
Can your pure spirits fear The God ye never could offend?
Ye never knew
Penance is not for you,
To you 't is given
Beneath the arch of heaven To chirp away a life of praise.
Then spread each wing, Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands,
And join the choirs tnat sing
Or, if ye stay,
Teach me the airy way,
Above the crowd,
I'd bathe in you bright cloud,
'T were heaven indeed Through fields of trackless light to soar,
On Nature's charins to feed, And Nature's own great God adore.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well,
In learned doctors' spite;
And lap me in delight.
My years are sooner pass'd ?
They're sweeter while they last.
A monitor, though still;
Beyond the preacher's skill.
To goodness every day,
When he has passed away.
Attended but by thee,
Man's fate in thine I see.
Then breaks and falls away,
Thus tumbled to decay.
And smoke and fume around, And then, like thee, to ashes turn,
And mingle with the ground. Life's but a leaf adroitly roll'd,
And time's the wasting breath,
Gives all to dusty death.
One common doom is pass'd:
Must all burn out at last.
A little moving heap,
With thee in dust must sleep.
Thy essence rolls on high ;
My soul shall cleave the sky.
DEDICATION HYMN. God of wisdom, God of might,
Father! dearest name of all, Bow thy throne and bless our rite;
"Tis thy children on thee call. Glorious Orx! look down from heaven,
Warm each heart and wake each vow; Unto Thec this house is given;
With thy presence fill it now. Fill it now! on every sou
Shed the incense of thy grace, While our anthem-echoes roll
Round the consecrated place; While thy holy page we read,
While the prayers Thou lovest asce d, While thy cause thy servants plead,
Fill this house, our Gop, our Friend. Fill it now-0, fill it long!
So, when death shall call us home, Still to Thee, in many a throng,
May our children's children come. Bless them, Father, long and late,
Blot their sins, their sorrows dry;
(Born 1702. Dled 1808.1
SEBA SMITH was born in "Buckfield, Maine, on was married to ELIZABETH OAKES PRINCE, who the fonrteenth of September, 1792; graduated at has since been one of the most conspicuous literary Bowdoin College in 1818; and having studied the women of this country. In 1842 they removed to law, settled in Portland, where his literary tastes led New York, where Mr. Smith has published “Let. him to a connection with the press, and he edited ters of Major Jack Downing," « Powhattan, a Met. successively the “ Eastern Argus," and the Port- rical Romance," "Way Down East, or Portraitures land Courier.” It was during his residence in Port of Yankee Life,” “New Elements of Geometry," land that he originated the popular and natural cha &c. One of his earliest attempts in verse was racter of Major Downing," which has served more “An Auction Extraordinary,” frequently quoted frequently and successfully than any other for the il. | as LUCRETIA Maria Davidson's. Among his milustration of New England peculiarites, in speech nor poems several are dramatic and picturesque, and manners. When about thirty years of age, he l and noticeable for unusual force of description.
THE BURNING SHIP AT SEA.
Some, a moment to escape from the grave,
On the bowsprit take a stand;
On the wave.
When the morning sun awoke,
And a sable cloud of smoke
But the sea-gulls round it fly,
Blood had stained.
THE SNOW STORM.
The night was clear and mild,
And the breeze went softly by, And the stars of heavon smiled
As they wandered up the sky;
But many a hapless wight
Found a grave!
Save the watch upon the deck ;
Of the horrors of the wreck,
Till a shriek of wo profound,
A shriek of “fire!"
With resistless rage they fly, Up the shrouds and up the mast,
And are flickering to the sky;
There's no place to rest their feet;
Are the sails.
But the sea-bird that few by :
But no hand to save was nigh;
Last farewells were uttered there,
Sent to Heaven.
To the death that waits them there ; nthers quench the flames with blood,
And expire in open air;
Tax cold winds swept the mountain's height,
And pathless was the dreary wild,
A mother wander'd with her child :
And darker hours of night came on,
Her limbs were chill'd, her strength was goize. “Oh, God!" she cried, in accents wild, "If I must perish, save my child !”. She stripp'd her mantle from her breast,
And bared her bosom to the storm,
And smiled to think her babe was warm.
And saw her 'neath a snowy veil ;
Her cheek was cold, and hard, and pale,
N. L. FROTHINGHAM.
The Reverend NATHANIEL Langdon Froth discourses; in 1852 “Sermons, in the order of a INGRAM, D.D., was born in Boston in the sum Twelvemonth ;" and in other years, about fifty sormer of 1793, and was graduated at Cambru.ge in mons and addresses of various kinds. In 1855 ho the class of 1811. While a student there he pro has gratified his friends, and enriched our litcranounced the poem at the installation of Dr. KIRK ture by printing a collection of his poems, under LAND as president of the university, but his first the title of "Metrical Pieces, Translated and Oriprinted verses of any considerable extent were ginal.” che - Poem delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa A singular grace of expression and refinement Society” in 1813, which appeared in Mr. An- of sentiment pervade the prose writings of Dr. DREWS Norton's "General Repository." The FROTIIINGHAM, and his poetry is also marked by year before this he became an instructor in rheto exquisite finish and tasteful elegance. His works ric and oratory in the college, an office which he are among the best models of composition which was the first to hold, and in which he was suc- contemporary New England scholars will present ceeded by his friend J. M. Wainwright, after- | to posterity. The longest of his poems is a maswards bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church terly version of "The Phenomena or Appearances in New York. He remained in it till the spring of the Stars," from the Greek of ARATUS. His of 1815, when he was ordained as pastor of the translations from the German have been very highFirst Congregational Church in Boston. In this ly esteemed by the most competent critics for fidelpastorale he continued until ill-health compelled | ity to their first authors, and as English poems. him to resign it, at the same point of the year, He has exhibited what the Germans accomplished in 1850.
in their own language and what they would havo Dr. FromHINGHAM has been many years a con done in ours. His independent productions in tributor to the “Christian Examiner," and, less | verse are what might have been expected from a frequently, to some other periodicals. In 1845 | mind in contemplation and action subordinated so he published “Deism or Christianity” in four | instinctively and sedulously to the laws of beauty.
TO THE OLD FAMILY CLOCK,
SET UP IN A NEW PLACE.
Of homely duties and of plain delights,
Thou, for their sake, stand honored there a while,
TO A DEAD TREE,
OLD things are come to honor. Well they might,
Well they might
My mother's childish wonder gazed as mine did
I see thee not in the old-fashioned room,
The dead tree bears; each dried-up buugh
With leaves is overgrown,
Of verdure not his own.
The unsightly branch a grace;
The green shoots interlace.
To HERMES' band assigned, -
First leaves, then serpents, twined.