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She bent, and kissed her sister's lips,

As she was wont to do ;-
Alas! 'twas but a chilling breath
Woke just enough of life in death

To make Hope die anew.

Anxious to associate the name of a most dear and honored friend with my own, I solicited and obtained the permission of Professor J. H. Green to permit the insertion of the two following poems, by him composed.


MORNING INVITATION TO A CHILD. THE house is a prison, the school-room's a cell !

Leave study and books for the upland and dell; Lay aside the dull poring, quit home and quit care; Sally forth! Sally forth ! Let us breathe the fresh

air ! The sky dons its holiday mantle of blue ; The sun sips his morning refreshment of dew; Shakes joyously laughing his tresses of light, And here and there turns his eye piercing and

bright; Then jocund mounts up on his glorious car, With smiles to the morn,--for he means to go far: While the clouds, that had newly paid court at his

levee, Spread sail to the breeze, and glide off in a bevy. Tree, and tree-tufted hedge-row, and sparkling

between Dewy meadows enamelled in gold and in green,

With king.cups and daisies, that all the year please, Sprays, petals, and leaflets, that nod in the breeze, With carpets, and garlands, and wreaths, deck the

way, And tempt the blithe spirit still onward to stray, Itself its own home ;-far awas! far away! The butterflies flutter in pairs round the bower; The humble-bee sings in each bell of each flower; The bee hums of heather and breeze-wooing hill, And forgets in the sunshine his toil and his skill; The birds carol gladly !—the lark mounts on high ; The swallows on wing make their tune to the eye, And as birds of good omen, that summer loves well, Ever wheeling weave ever some magical spell. The hunt is abroad ;-hark! the horn sounds its

note, And seems to invite us to regions remote. The horse in the meadow is stirred by the sound, And neighing impatient o'erleaps the low mound; Then proud in his speed o'er the champaign he

bounds, To the whoop of the huntsmen and tongue of the

hounds. Then stay not within, for on such a blest day We can never quit home, while with Nature we

stray; far away, far away!

CONSOLATION OF A MANIAC. THE feverous dream is past ! and I awake,

Alone and joyless in my prison-cell, Again to ply the never ending toil,

And bid the task-worn memory weave again
The tangled threads, and ravelled skein of thought,
Disjointed fragments of my care-worn life!
The mirror of my soul,—ah! when again
To welcome and reflect calm joy and hope !
Again subsides, and smooths its turbid swell,
Late surging in the sweep of frenzy's blast, —
And the sad forms of scenes and deeds long past
Blend into spectral shapes and deathlike life,
And pass in silent, stern procession !
The storm is past ;—but in the pause and hush,
Nor calm nor tranquil joy, nor peace are mine ;
My spirit is rebuked and like a mist,
Despondency, in grey cold mantle clad,
In phantom form gigantic floats !

That dream,
That dream, that dreadful dream, the potent spell,
That calls to life the phantoms of the past, -
Makes e'en oblivion memory's register, -
Still swells and vibrates in my throbbing brain !
Again I wildly quaffed the maddening bowl,
Again I staked my all,—again the die
Proved traitor to my hopes ;—and 'twas for her,
Whose love more maddened than the bowl, whose

More dear than all, was treacherous as the die ;-
Again I saw her with her paramour,
Again I aimed the deadly blow, again
I senseless fell, and knew not whom I struck,
Myself, or her, or him ;-I heard the shriek,
And mingled laugh, and cry of agony:
I felt the whirl of rapid motion,-
And hosts of fiendish shapes, uncertain seen

“Lead on, my child !” said Cain ; “ guide me, little child !” And the innocent little child clasped a finger of the hand which had murdered the righteous Abel, and he guided his father. “ The fir branches drip upon thee, my son.” “Yea, pleasantly, father, for I ran fast and eagerly to bring thee the pitcher and the cake, and my body is not yet cool. How happy the squirrels are that feed on these fir-trees ! they leap from bough to bough, and the old squirrels play round their young ones in the nest. I clomb a tree yesterday at noon, O my father, that I might play with them, but they leaped away from the branches, even to the slender twigs did they leap, and in a moment I beheld them on another tree. Why, O my father, would they not play with me? I would be good to them as thou art good to me: and I groaned to them even as thou groanest when thou givest me to eat, and when thou coverest me at evening, and as often as I stand at thy knee and thine eyes look at me ?" Then Cain stopped, and stifling his groans, he sank to the earth, and the child Enos stood in the darkness beside him.

And Cain lifted up his voice and cried bitterly, and said, “The Mighty One that persecuteth me is on this side and on that; he pursueth my soul like the wind, like the sand-blast he passeth through me; he is around me even as the air! O that I might be utterly no more! I desire to die-yea, the things that never had life, neither move they upon the earth—behold! they seem precious to mine eyes. O that a man might live without the breath of his nostrils. So I might abide in darkness and blackness, and an empty space! Yea, I would lie

down, I would not rise, neither would I stir my limbs till [ became as the rock in the den of the lion, on which the young lion resteth his head whilst he sleepeth. For the torrent that roareth afar off hath a voice ; and the clouds in heaven look terribly on me; the Mighty One who is against me speaketh in the wind of the cedar grove; and in silence am I dried up.” Then Enos spake to his father, “ Arise, my father, arise, we are but a little way from the place where I found the cake and the pitcher."

And Cain said, “How knowest thou ?"

And the child answered, “Behold the bare rocks are a few of thy strides distant from the forest; and while even now thou wert lifting up thy voice, I heard the echo." Then the child took hold of his father as if he would raise him; and Cain being faint and feeble rose slowly on his knees and pressed himself against the trunk of a fir, and stood upright and followed the child.

The path was dark till within three strides’ length of its termination, when it turned suddenly; the thick black trees formed a low arch, and the moonlight appeared for a moment like a dazzling portal. Enos ran before, and stood in the open air; and when Cain, his father, emerged from the darkness, the child was affrighted. “For the mighty limbs of Cain were wasted as by fire ; his hair was as the matted curls on the bison's forehead, and so glared his fierce and sullen eye beneath ; and the black abundant locks on either side, a rank and tangled mass, were stained and scorched as though the grasp of a burning iron hand had striven to rend them; and his countenance told in a strange and

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