Destruction has its home, And Mirth is destined to some favorite spot; Thou hast thy dark abode In the lone desert-in the prison's cell; And in the gayest scene, where ever flowed The tide of wine and music, thou dost dwell. Thou art where friends are torn And held asunder by reluctant space; And meeting friends-O, do they never mourn When Memory paints thine image on the face? Thy inmates of the breast All other passions—are but weak and brief; Joy, Hope, Pride, Love and Hatred have a rest, But thou art constant as our breath, O Grief! Then let the trifler laugh, And Joy lift his glad billows like the deep, And twine with wreaths of flowers the cup we quaff; It is far better for the wise to weep. The Autumn Evening.-PEABODY. BEHOLD the western evening light! The winds breathe low; the withering leaf So gently flows the parting breath, How beautiful on all the hills "Tis like the peace the Christian gives How mildly on the wandering cloud 'Tis like the memory left behind When loved ones breathe their last. And now, above the dews of night, But soon the morning's happier light And eyelids that are sealed in death Lines on revisiting the Country.—BRYANT. I STAND upon my native hills again, Broad, round, and green, that, in the southern sky, With garniture of waving grass and grain, Orchards and beechen forests, basking lie; While deep the sunless glens are scooped between, Where brawl o'er shallow beds the streams unseen. A lisping voice and glancing eyes are near, For I have taught her, with delighted eye, Here I have 'scaped the city's stifling heat, And gales, that sweep the forest borders, bear The song of bird and sound of running stream, Ay, flame thy fiercest, sun: thou canst not wake, From thy fierce heats a deeper, glossier green; He seems the breath of a celestial clime,- The Spirit's Song of Consolation.*-F. W. P. GREENWOOD. DEAR parents, grieve no more for me; My parents, grieve no more; Than even with you before. I've left a world where wo and sin And gained a world where I shall rest Our Father bade me come to him, And he has made his heavenly house I heard the voice you could not hear, I saw, too, what you could not see, They smiling stood, and looked at me, *Supposed to be addressed by the departed spirit of a boy to his paren who had lost two other children before him. They said they were my sisters dear, Then think not of the mournful time Colonization of Africa.-BRAINARD. ALL sights are fair to the recovered blind; Of shame and sorrow, when he cuts the cord, In the light yoke and burden of his Lord. Thus, with the birthright of his fellow man, 'Tis somewhat like the burst from death to life; To the pure freedom of a soul forgiven! When all the bonds of death and hell are riven, And mortals put on immortality; When fear, and care, and grief, away are driven, And Mercy's hand has turned the golden key, And Mercy's voice has said, "Rejoice-thy soul is free!" Fable of the Wood Rose and the Laurel.- IN these deep shades a floweret blows, With modest air it hides its charms, "Thou worthless flower, Go leave my bower, And hide in humbler scenes thy head: Go, leave my bower, and live unknown; ...." And dost thou think”—the Laurel cried, And raised its head with modest pride, While on its little trembling tongue A drop of dew incumbent hung "And dost thou think I'll leave this bower, The seat of many a friendly flower, The scene where first I grew? Thy haughty reign will soon be o'er, But know, proud rose, When winter's snows Shall fall where once thy beauties stood, My pointed leaf of shining green Will still amid the gloom be seen, To cheer the leafless wood." Presuming fool!" the Wood Rose cried, And strove in vain her shame to hide; But, ah! no more the flower could say; For, while she spoke, a transient breeze |