MRS. EMILY JUDSON-THOMAS BURBIDGE. Mrs. Emily Judson. AMERICAN. Miss Chubbuck (1817-1854) was a native of Morrisville, N. Y. At an early age she went to Utica as a teacher, and there made her first attempts at authorship. She wrote under the assumed name of Fanny Forrester, and published a collection of her essays and sketches in two volumes under the title of "Alderbrook." This work had quite a success. In 1846 she married Dr. Judson, the missionary, and sailed for Burmah. She returned home after her husband's decease, but followed him soon after. Sleep, love, sleep! WATCHING. The dusty day is done. Lo! from afar the freshening breezes sweep, Wild over groves of balm, Down from the towering palm, In at the open casement cooling run, And round thy lowly bed, Thy bed of pain, Bathing thy patient head, Like grateful showers of rain, They come; While the white curtains, wavering to and fro, Fan the sick air, And pityingly the shadows come and go, With gentle human care, Compassionate and dumb. The dusty day is done, The night begun ; And drops like balm into the drowsy ear; Commingling with the hum Of the Sepoy's distant drum, And lazy beetle ever droning near,— The lizard, with his mouse-like eyes, At such strange quiet of the day's harsh din; And looks about, And with his hollow feet Treads his small evening beat, Darting upon his prey In such a tricksy, winsome sort of way, His delicate marauding seems no sin. And still the curtains swing, But noiselessly; The bells a melancholy murmur ring, As tears were in the sky; More heavily the shadows fall Like the black foldings of a pall, Where juts the rough beam from the wall; The candles flare With fresher gusts of air; The beetle's drone Turns to a dirge-like, solitary moan; 747 Night deepens, and I sit, in cheerful doubt, alone. JAMES T. FIELDS.-DENIS F. MCCARTHY.-MRS. ELIZABETH FRIES ELLET. His smile was stamped on every tree, The glacier shone to gild his name, And every image in the lake Reflected back his fame. Great keeper of the magic keys Thine ashes rest on Auburn's banks, Thy memory all the world contains, For thou couldst bind in human love All hearts in golden chains! Thine was the heaven-born spell that sets Our warm and deep affections free,-Who knew thee best must love thee best, And longest mourn for thee! Denis Florence McCarthy. Born in Ireland in 1817, McCarthy published in 1853 an excellent translation of some of the Spanish dramas of Calderon. He is also the author of " Ballads, Poems, and other Lyrics" (1850), "Under Glimpses, and other Poems" (1857), "Bell-Founder, and other Poems" (1857), "Shelley's Early Life" (1872). SUMMER LONGINGS. Las mananas floridas De Abril y Mayo.-CALDERON. Ah! my heart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May Waiting for the pleasant rambles, Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles, With the woodbine alternating, Scent the dewy way. Ah! my heart is weary waiting, Ah! my heart is sick with longing, Longing for the MayLonging to escape from study, To the young face fair and ruddy, And the thousand charms belonging To the summer day. Ah! my heart is sick with longing, Longing for the May. Ah! my heart is sore with sighing, Sighing for the May Sighing for their sure returning, When the summer beams are burning, Ah! my heart is sore with sighing, Ah! my heart is pained with throbbing, Ah! my heart, my heart is throbbing, Waiting sad, dejected, weary, Waiting for the May. Spring goes by with wasted warnings- Mrs. Elizabeth Fries Ellet. AMERICAN. 749 Mrs. Ellet, whose maiden name was Lummis, was a native of Sodus, N. Y., and born in 1818. She married early in life Professor W. H. Ellet. She has published "Poems, Original and Selected," and numerous prose works, of which her "Women of the American Revolution" has passed through many editions. SONNET. O weary heart, there is a rest for thee! There heaven bends smiling o'er the placid deep, Arthur Cleveland Coxe. AMERICAN. The son of a well-known Presbyterian clergyman, Coxe was born in New York in 1818. He graduated at the University of that city in 1838; studied divinity, and became Bishop of Western New York. He began to write poetry while quite young. His "Christian Ballads have had a large sale both in England and the United States. Among his other works are: "Advent, a Mystery: a Dramatic Poem;" "Athwold: a Romaunt;" "Halloween;""Athanasion;" "Sermons on Doctrine and Duty;" "Impressions of England," etc. WATCHWORDS. We are living,--we are dwelling In a grand and awful time; In an age, on ages telling, To be living--is sublime. Hark! the waking up of nations, Gog and Magog to the fray; Hark what soundeth, is Creation's Groaning for its latter day. Will ye play, then! will ye dally, With your music, with your wine? Up! it is Jehovah's rally! God's own arm hath need of thine. Hark! the onset! will ye fold your Worlds are charging to the shock. Worlds are charging-heaven beholding! What! still hug thy dreamy slumbers? Fear not! spurn the worldling's laughter; On! let all the soul within you For the truth's sake go abroad! Strike! let every nerve and sinew Tell on ages-tell for God! MATIN BELLS. The Sun is up betimes, And the dappled East is blushing, And the merry matin chimes, They are gushing-Christian-gushing! They are tolling in the tower, For another day begun; And to hail the rising hour Of a brighter, brighter Sun! For a sunshine brighter far The lark is in the sky, And his morning-note is pouring; He hath a wing to fly, So he's soaring-Christian-soaring! His nest is on the ground, But only in the night; For he loves the matin sound, And the highest heaven's height. Hark-Christian-hark! At heaven-door he sings! And be thou like the lark, With thy soaring spirit-wings! The merry matin bells, In their watch-tower they are swinging; For the day is o'er the dells, And they're singing Christian-singing! They have caught the morning beam Through their ivied turret's wreath, And the chancel-window's gleam Is glorions beneath: Go-Christian-go, For the altar flameth there, And the snowy vestments glow Of the presbyter at prayer! There is morning incense flung From the child-like lily-flowers; And their fragrant censer swung, Make it ours-Christian-ours! And hark, the morning hymn, And the organ-peals we love! They sound like cherubim At their orisons above! Pray-Christian-pray, At the bonnie peep of dawn, Ere the dew-drop and the spray That christen it are gone! THOMAS HILL. 751 Thomas Hill. AMERICAN. The Rev. Thomas Hill, D.D., LL.D., was born in New Brunswick, N. J., in 1818. His parents were both of English birth, and died while he was yet a child. When twelve years old, he was apprenticed to a printer, with whom he remained three years. But he studied Latin and Greek, entered Harvard College, graduated in 1843, and passed two years at the Divinity School. He presided over the Unitarian Church in Waltham, Mass., for fourteen years; in 1859 succeeded Horace Mann as President of Antioch College, Ohio; was thence called to the Presidency of Harvard-an office he held six years, when failing health caused him to resign. He accompanied Agassiz in the voyage of the Hassler through the Straits of Magellan. On his return (1873) he was installed over a church in Portland, Maine. Dr. Hill was the first to propose (1847) daily predictions of the weather, founded on telegraphic reports. He is gifted as a mathematician, and published (1849) a valuable little work, entitled "Geometry and Faith." He is one of the most American of our poets, and his productions evince an irrepressible love of Nature. He is the author of some excellent hymns. As versatile in his accomplishments as in his pursuits, a poet and a philosopher, a man of executive ability and an eloquent preacher, he has shown eminent talents in all his undertakings. Four years of his youth in an apothecary's shop made him a skilful pharmacist. THE BOBOLINK. Bobolink! that in the meadow, Sweeter tones may weave the spell When the ides of May are past, June and Summer nearing fast, While from depths of blue above Comes the mighty breath of love, Calling out each bud and flower With resistless, secret power,— Waking hope and fond desire, Kindling the erotic fire,— Filling youths' and maidens' dreams A single note so sweet and low, Gayest songster of the spring! Bobolink! still may thy gladness ANTIOPA.1 At dead of night a south-west breeze The breeze crept through the old stone wall, And wakened the butterfly there, Written in the Straits of Magellan in the spring of 1872. The butterfly which comes out of stone walls in April is Vanessa antiopa. |