Night holds his watch 'neath a cloudless canopy,With hanging lamps o'er the bright sea's erest, Till young morning spreads, like a golden panoply, A flood of day o'er its glassy breast. Sparkling like dew-drops distilled on sweet violets, Life's sea of light unruffled lies; Away darts the ship o'er the silvery breast of it, Her white sails spread to the breeze, she flies. Morning hath op'd those golden eyes of hers, But scarce one glance o'er the world hath shone, When far to the west a gathering cloud appears, Gleaning the darkness that night had strown. How tosses the ship when the world goes crabbedly, Loud shrieks the blast as the waves roll rapidly, LINES WRITTEN ON THE FIRST OF APRIL, 1852. If nature sanctions all the rules For when Aurora raised the vail The birds rejoiced to see the eye They, too, were fooled most sadly. The prince of that mysterious power And sure enough, it came blust'ring on And though the morning brightly dawned, So round the cradle often beams Bright rays of hope and gladness; But oh, how changed are childhood's dreams, A prosperous sun may set at noon, A fickle freak of fortune soon A LEGEND. In Jersey there lived, as I have been told, A worthy old Dutchman, who offered much gold How to drive from his cellar a troublesome witch, By leading him forth o'er thorn-hedge and ditch, "So droubled am I," said our hero one day, For to trive tis old hag from me varm. "My cals tey run vild, my cows tey run try, My pees leave de hives, my gattles dey dies, One evening when all had retired to bed, He sighed as the darkness grew thicker, and said, But the old mansion shook with a November gale, And howl'd through each crevice the horrible tale Dense wreaths of tobacco smoke curled round his head Had measured each moment of time as it sped But the darkness grew thicker, the candle burnt blue, A sulphurous smell filled the room, While the tumult without waxed fiercer, as grew While Van Hochtail thus mused (for that was his name) The clock in the corner tolled one; The candle went out, when a fit seized his frame The door was thrown open, a figure rushed in, All consciousness fled, while away on the wind The whole of that night, in the form of a horse, With a witch on his back, as a matter of course, Himself in his chair, his hat in his hand, His pipe and his wig on the floor; The storm had passed off, the morning was clear, And the clock tick'd on as before. THE HARPER. RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO MESSRS. HALL AND ARTMAN. BY FRANCES J. CROSBY. Oh, speak not harshly to the humble poor, Ye little know the wrongs that heart hath borne; The golden sun had set, and the blue sky, That softly lingered on its azure breast, Had turned, dejected, from the busy throng, Towards his humble cottage. All day long And he felt that the icy hand of death Was at her heart. "T was more than he could bear. My child, he said, the staff of my old age, How can I lose thee? Thou wert all to me; Dost thou remember Rodolph? At that name She slightly trembled, but her voice grew calm As she proceeded: Near our happy cot, my childhood home, There was a shady nook, o'erhung with woodbines and the evergreen, And there at eve, with Rodolph by my side, While the light zephyrs with their silken wings, Fanned the sweet flowers that slept beneath our feet, I listened to the gentle words he breathed. He sought my hand-my heart had long been his; |