I saw a famous fountain, in niy dream,

Where shady path-ways to a valley led; A weeping willow lay upon that stream,

And all around the fountain brink were spread Wide-branching trees, with dark green leaf rich clad, Forming a doubtful twilight-desolate and sad.

The place was such, that whoso enter'd in,

Disrobed was of every earthly thought,
And straight became as one that knew not sin,

Or to the world's first innocence was brought ;
Enseem'd it now, he stood on holy ground,
In sweet and tender melancholy wrapt around.

A most strange calm stole o'er my soothed sprite;

Long time I stood, and longer had I staid, When, lo! I saw, saw by the sweet nioon-light,

Which came in silence o'er that silent shade, Where, near the fountain, SOMETHING like DESPAIR Made, of that weeping willow, garlands for her hair.

And eke with painful fingers she inwove

Many an uncouth stem of savage thorn“ The willow garland, that was for her love,

And these her bleeding temples would adorn.” With sighs her heart nigh burst, salt tears fast fell, As mournfully she bended o'er that sacred well.

To whom when I addrest myself to speak,

She lifted up her eyes, and nothing said ;
The delicate red came mantling o'er her cheek,

And, gath’ring up her loose attire, she fled
To the dark covert of that woody shade,
And in her goings seem'd a timid gentle maid.

Revolving in my mind what this should mean,

And why that lovely lady plained so, Perplex'd in thought at that mysterious scene,

And doubting if 'twere best to stay or go, I cast mine eyes in wistful gaze around,

[sound When from the shades came slow a small and plaintive

" Psyche am I, who love to dwell
In these brown shades, this woody dell,
Where never busy mortal came,
Till now, to pry upon my shame.

At thy feet what thou dost see
The waters of repentance be,
Which, night and day, I must augment
With tears, like a true penitent,

If haply so my day of grace
Be not yet past; and this lone place,
O'er-shadowy, dark, excludeth hence
All thoughts but grief and penitence.”

". Why dost thou weep, thou gentle maid!
And wherefore in this barren shade
T'hy hidden thoughts with sorrow feed?
Can thing so fair repentance need ?".

“O! I have done a deed of shame,
And tainted is my virgin fame,
And stain'd the beauteous maiden white
In which my bridal robes were dight.”

And who the promised spouse ? declare :
And what those bridal garments were."

“ Severe and saintly righteousness
Composed the clear white bridal dress ;
Jesus, the Son of Heaven's high King,
Bought with his blood the marriage ring.

A wretched sinful creature, I
Deem'd lightly of that sacred tie,
Gave to a treacherous WORLD my heart,
And play'd the foolish wanton's part.

Soon to these murky shades I came,
To hide from the sun's light my shame.
And still I haunt this woody dell,
And bathe me in that healing well,
Whose waters clear have influence
From sin's foul stains the soul to cleanse ;
And, night and day, I them augment,
With tears, like a true penitent,
Until, due expiation made,
And fit atonement fully paid,
The Lord and Bridegroom me present,
Where in sweet strains of high consent,
God's throne before the Seraphim
Shall chant the ecstatic marriage hymn.”

“ Now Christ restore thee soon”-I said, And thenceforth all my dream was fled.

SONNET.--TO MY SISTER. IF from my lips some angry accents fell, Peevish complaint, or harsh reproof unkind, 'Twas but the error of a sickly mind And troubled thoughts, clouding the purer well, And waters clear, of Reason ; and for me Let this my verse the poor atonement beMy verse, which thou to praise wert ever inclined Too highly, and with a partial eye to see No blemish. Thou to me didst ever show Kindest atfection; and would oft-times lend An ear to the desponding love-sick lay, Weeping my sorrows with me, who repay But ill the mighty debt of love I owe, Mary, to thee, my sister and my friend.



DEAR distant land, whose mountains blue
Still bound this wild and watery view,-
Dear distant land, where fate has thrown
All that my heart delights to own!
Blest be yon gleam of partial light,
Which gives thee to my parting sight!

Those well-known cliffs, whose shadows throw Soft coolness o'er the beach below, Where I so oft, a happy child, Picking or shell or weed, beguiled Light reckless hours, that passed away, Like night-sparks on the briny spray, Dear pleasant shore, thy sandy bed These feet unblessed no more shall tread !

Still thy rich vales, with autumn's store
And cheerful hamlets mottled o'er;
Thy upland peaks, whose stately forms
Are mantled oft in gathering storms ;
Thy blue streams widening on their way,
Thy broad lakes gleaming to the day;
Thy smoking towns, whose towers of war
And dusky spires are seen afar,
Thy children's boastful pride will raise,
And fix the admiring stranger's gaze,
But now, for ever lost to me,
These eyes unblest no more shall see.

Thy wild pipe, touched with rustic hands, Thy reapers' song from merry bands;

Thy boatman's call and dashing oar,
Thy falling torrent's deafʼning roar ;
Thy busy city's humming sound,
With all its sweet bells chinuing round,
Far, on a strange and cheerless shore,
These ears unblest shall hear no more.

Happy is he, beyond all gain, Who holds in thee his free domain, And rores with careless feet at will O'er his paternal mead and hill, And stores the fruit his harvests yield From his own orchard and his field ! Happy is he who leads at dawn His harnessed steers across thy lawn ! Yea, happy he, bent down with toil, Whose glistening brow bedews thy soil !

How gently heaves the evening sea, As all things homeward tend to thee! Borne lightly on the gentle gale, Now homeward points each little sail ! Far, screaming from their airy height, The sea.fowl homeward take their flight; The floating plank and spreading weed Upon the setting current speed; The light cloud passes on the wind, While I alone am left behind.

An, woe is me! where shall I stray,
And whither bend my reckless way?
A waste of world before me lies,
But in the thought my spirit dies.
There is no home nor joy for me,
My native land, removed from thee.
For me the sun of heaven doth shine
Upon no hills, no plains but thine;
For me the voice of kindness sounds
Only within thy cheerful bounds.

Rise, surgy deep! ye wild winds blow, And whelm my bark these waves below! Then bear me to my native land : A breathless corse upon her strand,

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