Stretch out their arms to give the fond embrace,
But find the sad deceit an empty space.

While solemn musings thus my mind possessed,
And cast a sable mantle on my breast,
Beneath the shade which eglantines impart
I laid me down in converse with my heart;
Soon a soft influence o'er my senses stole,
And lulled to peace the tumults of my soul.
Nature had strung her harp, and to my ear
Came sounds that seraphs e'en might pause to hear;
In murmuring cadence like the distant surge,
The flowers poured forth their melancholy dirge.

Sister, thou from us art gone,

And thy early loss we mourn;
Ruthless though the tyrant's dart
Arrests the pulses of thine heart,
Heaven opes her crystal gate,
Cherubs on thy footsteps wait.

Enter, then, thy home above,
Dwell in light and dwell in love.
Gone art thou; but still behind
A balm hast left to soothe the mind.
Ripe in wisdom, fresh in youth,
Thou hast added grace to truth;
On thy every leaf we see
Nature blend with piety.

May we heed thy gentle voice

And make the better part our choice;
Yet await; then heavenward flee

On faith's bright wings to bliss and thee.

LOST TREASURES.

BY MRS. C. M. SAWYER.

SUMMER flowers!

Where are now your bright wreaths trailing?
Where your fragrant sweets exhaling?
I have searched the bosky dingle

Through and through, yet not a single
Smiling bloom there lifts its head:

Summer flowers

Ah, ye all are dead!

Summer joys!

Where are now your robes of gladness? Where your songs which banished sadness? I have wandered through my dwelling Listening for young voices swelling,Voices which fore'er are fled:

Summer joys

Ah, ye too are dead!

Summer friends!

Where are now your eyes so smiling?
Where your fond words so beguiling?
I have bowed mine ear to hear you,
I have dreamed I still am near you—

Treacherous dreams that so misled!

Summer friends!

Are ye also dead?

Summer life!

Where art thou thy warmth now shedding?
Death is coldly round me treading;
Underneath yon snow-drifts sleeping
Rest two dear ones I am weeping-
Weeping nightly in my bed:
Summer life-

Ah, thou too art dead!

Vanished treasures!

Flowers, the spring once more will bring you;

Songs, my lips once more will sing you;
Friends, your hands will yet be taken;
Sleeping loved ones, ye will waken—
Waken on the better shore:

All my treasures

Will be mine once more!

THE ROYAL CAPTIVE.

BY MRS. C. M. SAWYER.

GRAY, old ruins: wonderful relics of the feudal ages!-vast, legendary pile-here hewn out of the solid rock; there, slowly, and with what incredible labor, reared up by hands which have for a thousand years been moldering in the dust-what emotions, strange, thrilling, and profound, does your pictured semblance not awaken! how does the buried past, the proud old knightly past, come stealing back again! a past, it may be, of an iron rule, but also of a chivalry and valor which could not but have been ennobling-a past, when honor, not avarice, ruled the heart and the hand; when to win, by long and valorous effort, a high and noble name, was better than to amass a mine of gold; when he who but possessed a mailed harness for his good. steed, and for his own stalwart form, a trusty sword and shield, a true heart and strong right hand, had wherewithal to conquer the most austere destiny, had wealth, albeit without a coin in his purse, and titles, though perchance not a rood of land on the broad earth could he claim as his own.

Fancy, now, thou weird enchantress, come hither to thy votary! These shapeless masses of stone lying in such undistinguishable confusion, with, here, the fragment of upright wall and moss-grown archway, and there, the stern, defying tower still lifting its tall and gloomy head high over the surrounding ruin,—what were they once but fortresses, and courts, and chapels, and knightly halls? Wave now thine enchanted wand, and bid back their secret past. It is done; and lo! the glittering show of fair women and brave men; the gorgeous and princely banquets; the long and rude revels; the perilous and frightful sieges; the brave and glorious defences; the superhuman feats of daring and devotion; the frantic shouts of victory; the surrendering to joy and pleasure; the tender passages of love in the princely chambers above; the unheard groans and despairing deaths far down in the deep dungeons below; the transition from power to ignominy, and from ignominy to power; - how they pass in rapid and strange succession!

They are gone! Fancy, I need thee no longer to tell me where! The low whispers of love, the loud and discordant songs of the reveller, and the louder and more discordant shoutings of war, are heard no longer! The traces of the revel and of the combat have disappeared; the revellers and combatants themselves, with the ladies of their love,