THE PAST.

In thy abysses hide

Beauty and excellence unknown-to thee
Earth's wonder and her pride

Are gathered, as the waters to the sea;
Labours of good to man,

Unpublished charity, unbroken faith,-
Love, that midst grief began,

And

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grew with years, and faltered not in death.
Full many a mighty name

Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered;
With thee are silent fame,

Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared.
Thine for a space are they―
Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last;
Thy gates shall yet give way,

Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past!
All that of good and fair

Has gone into thy womb from earliest time,
Shall then come forth to wear

The glory and the beauty of its prime.

They have not perished-no!

Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet,
Smiles, radiant long ago,

And features, the great soul's apparent seat.
All shall come back, each tie

Of pure affection shall be knit again;
Alone shall Evil die,

And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign.

And then shall I behold

Him, by whose kind paternal side I
And her, who, still and cold,

sprung,

young.

Fills the next grave-the beautiful and

"UPON THE MOUNTAIN'S DISTANT HEAD."

UPON the mountain's distant head,
With trackless snows for ever white,
Where all is still, and cold, and dead,
Late shines the day's departing light.

But far below those icy rocks,

The vales, in summer bloom arrayed, Woods full of birds, and fields of flocks, Are dim with mist and dark with shade.

'Tis thus, from warm and kindly hearts, And eyes where generous meanings burn, Earliest the light of life departs,

But lingers with the cold and stern.

THE EVENING WIND.

SPIRIT that breathest through my lattice, thou
That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day,
Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow:
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play,
Riding all day the wild blue waves till now,
Roughening their crests, and scattering high
their spray

And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee
To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea!

Nor I alone-a thousand bosoms round
Inhale thee in the fulness of delight;
And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound
Livelier, at coming of the wind of night;

THE EVENING WIND.

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And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound,
Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight.
Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth,
God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth!
Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest,

Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse The wide old wood from his majestic rest,

Summoning from the innumerable boughs The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast:

Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass.

The faint old man shall lean his silver head

To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,
And dry the moistened curls that overspread
His temples, while his breathing grows more
deep:

And they who stand about the sick man's bed,
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,
And softly part his curtains to allow
Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.

Go-but the circle of eternal change,

Which is the life of nature, shall restore, With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more; Sweet odours in the sea-air, sweet and strange,

Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore; And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem He hears the rustling leaf and running stream..

"WHEN THE FIRMAMENT QUIVERS WITH DAYLIGHT'S YOUNG BEAM."

WHEN the firmament quivers with daylight's young beam,

And the woodlands awaking burst into a hymn, And the glow of the sky blazes back from the stream,

How the bright ones of heaven in the brightness grow dim.

Oh! 'tis sad, in that moment of glory and song,

To see, while the hill-tops are waiting the sun, The glittering band that kept watch all night long O'er Love and o'er Slumber, go out one by one: Till the circle of ether, deep, ruddy, and vast, Scarce glimmers with one of the train that were there;

And their leader the day-star, the brightest and last,

Twinkles faintly and fades in that desert of air. Thus, Oblivion, from midst of whose shadow we came,

Steals o'er us again when life's twilight is gone; And the crowd of bright names, in the heaven of fame,

Grow pale and are quenched as the years hasten on.

Let them fade-but we'll pray that the age, in whose flight,

Of ourselves and our friends the remembrance

shall die,

May rise o'er the world, with the gladness and

light

Of the morning that withers the stars from the sky.

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INNOCENT CHILD."

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"INNOCENT CHILD AND SNOW-WHITE FLOWER."

INNOCENT child and snow-white flower!
Well are ye paired in your opening hour.
Thus should the pure and the lovely meet,
Stainless with stainless, and sweet with sweet.

White as those leaves, just blown apart,
Are the folds of thy own young heart;
Guilty passion and cankering care
Never have left their traces there.

Artless one! though thou gazest now
O'er the white blossom with earnest brow,
Soon will it tire thy childish eye;
Fair as it is, thou wilt throw it by.

Throw it aside in thy weary hour,
Throw to the ground the fair white flower;
Yet, as thy tender years depart,
Keep that white and innocent heart.

TO THE RIVER ARVE.

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN AT A HAMLET NEAR THE FOOT OF MONT BLANC.

NOT from the sands or cloven rocks,
Thou rapid Arve! thy waters flow;
Nor earth, within her bosom, locks
Thy dark unfathomed wells below.