And a rainbow spann'd it changefully,
Like a bright ring broke in twain;
And the pale, fair girl, who stopp'd to see,
Was sick with the pangs of poverty-
And from hunger to guilt she chose to flee
As the rainbow smiled again.
With as fair a ray, on another day,
The morning will have shone ; And as little mark'd, in bright Broadway, A hearse will glide amid busy and gay, And the bard who sings will have pass'd awayAnd the Fountain will play on!
[An exquisite picture in the studio of a young artist al Rome.]
SIE rose from her untroubled sleep,
And put away her soft brown hair,
And, in a tone as low and deep
As love's first whisper, breathed a prayer-
Her snow-white hands together press'd,
Her blue eyes shelter'd in the lid,
The folded linen on her breast
Just swelling with the charms it hid;
And from her long and flowing dress
Escaped a bare and slender foot,
Whose shape upon the earth did press
Like a new snow-flake, white and "mute
And there, from slumber pure and warm,
Like a young spirit fresh from heaven,
She bow'd her slight and graceful form,
And humbly pray'd to be forgiven.
Oh God! if souls unsoil'd as these
Need daily mercy from thy throne-
If she upon her bended knees-
Our loveliest and our purest one-
She, with a face so clear and bright
We deem her some stray child of light—
If she, with those soft eyes in tears,
Day after day in her first years,
Must kneel and pray for grace from thee-
What far, far deeper need have we?
How hardly, if she win not heaven,
Will our wild errors be forgiven !
On for thy history now! Hadst thou a tongue To whisper of thy secrets, I could lay
Upon thy jewell'd tracery mine ear,
And dream myself in heaven.
In that fair creature's pride, and thou hast felt
The bounding of the haughtiest blood that e'er
Sprang from the heart of woman; and thy gold
Has lain upon her forehead in the hour
Of sadness, when the weary thoughts came fast,
And life was but a bitterness with all
Its vividness and beauty. She has gazed
In her fair girlhood on thy snowy pearls,
And mused away the hours, and she has bent
On thee the downcast radiance of her eye
When a deep tone was eloquent in her ear,
And thou hast lain upon her cheek, and press'd
Back on her heart its beatings, and put by
From her vein'd temples the luxuriant curls;
And in her peaceful sleep, when she has lain.
In her unconscious beauty, and the dreams
Of her high heart came goldenly and soft,
Thou hast been there unchidden, and hast felt
The swelling of the clear transparent veins
As the rich blood rush'd through them, warm and fast.
I am impatient as I gaze on thee,
Thou inarticulate jewel! Thou hast heard
With thy dull ear such music!-the low tone
Of a young sister's tenderness, when night
Hath folded them together like one flower-
The sudden snatch of a remember'd song
Warbled capriciously-the careless word
Lightly betraying the inaudible thought
Working within the heart; and, more than all,
Thou hast been lifted when the fervent prayer
For a loved mother, or the sleeping one
Lying beside her, trembled on her lip,
And the warm tear that from her eye stole out
As the soft lash fell over it, has lain
Amid thy shining jewels like a star.
TO HER WHO HAS HOPES FOR ME.
On stern, yet lovely monitress !
Thine eye should be of colder hue,
And on thy neck a paler tress
Should toy among those veins of blue!
For thou art to thy mission true—
An angel clad in human guise-
But sinners sometimes have such eyes,
And braid for love such tresses too;
And, while thou talk'st to me of heaven,
I sigh that thou hast not a sin to be forgiven!
Night comes, with love upon the breeze,
And the calm clock strikes, stilly, "ten."
I start to hear it beat, for then
I know that thou art on thy knees-
And, at that hour, where'er thou be,
Ascends to heaven a prayer for me! My heart drops to its bended kneeThe mirth upon my lip is dumb—— Yet, as a thought of heaven would come, There glides, before it, one of theeThou, in thy white dress, kneeling there!— I fear I could leave heaven to see thee at thy prayer!
I follow up the sacred aisle,
Thy light step on the Sabbath-day,
And as perhaps thou pray'st the while-
My light thoughts pass away!
As swells in air the holy hymn,
My breath comes quick, my eyes are dim,
And through my tears I pray!
I do not think my heart is stone—
But, while for heaven it beats alone-
In heaven would willing stay-
One rustle of thy snow-white gown
Sends all my thoughts astray!
The preaching dies upon my ear-
What" is the better world" when thy dark eyes are here!
Yet pray! my years have been but few-
And many a wile the tempter weaves,
And many a saint the sinner grieves
Ere Mercy brings him through!
But oh, when Mercy sits serene
And strives to bend to me,
Pray, that the cloud which comes between
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