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WILLIAM WETMORE STORY.

THE VIOLET.

The young moon's silver arc, her per fect circle tells,

O FAINT, delicious, spring-time vio- The limitless, within Art's bounded let,

Thine odor, like a key,

outline dwells.

Turns noiselessly in memory's wards Of every noble work, the silent part

to let

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is best;

Of all expression, that which cannot be expressed.

Each act contains the life, each work of art, the world,

And all the planet-laws are in each dewdrop pearled.

WETMORE COTTAGE, NAHANT.

THE hours on the old piazza

That overhangs the sea,

With a tender and pensive music
At times steal over me;

A spring goes singing through its And again, o'er the balcony lean

reedy grass;

The lark sings o'er my head,

ing,

We list to the surf on the beach,

Drowned in the sky.-Oh, pass, ye That fills with its solemn warning

visions, pass!

I would that I were dead!

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The intervals of speech.

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To close the eye, and close the ear, Wrapped in a trance of bliss, And gently dream in loving arms, To swoon to that,- from this.

Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep,
Scarce asking where we are,
To feel all evil sink away,
All sorrow and all care.

Sweet souls around us! watch us still,
Press nearer to our side,
Into our thoughts, into our prayers,
With gentle helpings glide.

Let death between us be as naught,
A dried and vanished stream;
Your joy be the reality,

Our suffering life, the dream.

ALFRED BILLINGS STREET.

[From Frontenac.]

QUEBEC AT SUNRISE.

THE fresh May morning's earliest light,

From where the richest hues were blended,

Lit on Cape Diamond's towering height

Whose spangled crystals glittered bright,

Thence to the castle roof descended, And bathed in radiance pure and deep [steep. The spires and dwellings of the Still downward crept the strengthening rays;

The lofty crowded roofs below And Cataraqui caught the glow, Till the whole scene was in a blaze. The scattered bastions, walls of

stone

[From Frontenac.]

QUEBEC AT SUNSET. 'Twas in June's bright and glowing prime

The loveliest of the summer time. The laurels were one splendid sheet

Of crowded blossom everywhere; The locust's clustered pearl was sweet, [air

And the tall whitewood made the Delicious with the fragrance shed From the gold flowers all o'er it spread.

In the rich pomp of dying day

Quebec, the rock-throned monarch, glowed,

Castle and spire and dwelling gray The batteries rude that niched their

way

Along the cliff, beneath the play

With bristling lines of cannon Of the deep yellow light, were gay,

crowned,

Whose muzzles o'er the landscape frowned

Blackly through their embrasures -shone.

Point Levi's woods sent many a wreath

Of mist, as though hearths smoked beneath,

Whilst heavy folds of vapor gray
Upon St. Charles, still brooding, lay;
The basin glowed in splendid dyes
Glassing the glories of the skies,
And chequered tints of light and
shade

The banks of Orleans' Isle displayed.

And the curved flood, below that lay,
In flashing glory flowed;
Beyond, the sweet and mellow smile
Beamed upon Orleans' lovely isle;
Until the downward view
Was closed by mountain-tops that,
reared

Against the burnished sky, appeared
In misty dreamy hue.

West of Quebec's embankments rose The forests in their wild repose. Between the trunks, the radiance slim

Here came with slant and quiver. ing blaze;

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The butterfly new being found; Whilst round the pink may-apple's bloom,

Gave myriad drinking bees their sound.

Great fleeting clouds the pigeons made;

When near her brood the hunter

strayed

With trailing limp the partridge stirred;

Whilst a quick, feathered spangle shot

Rapid as thought from spot to spot Showing the fairy humming-bird.

[From Frontenac.]

CAYUGA LAKE.

SWEET sylvan lake! in memory's gold

Is set the time, when first my eye From thy green shore beheld thee hold

Thy mirror to the sunset sky! No ripple brushed its delicate air, Rich silken tints alone were there; The far opposing shere displayed, Mingling its hues, a tender shade; A sail scarce seeming to the sight To move, spread there its pinion white,

Like some pure spirit stealing on
Down from its realm, by beauty won.
Oh, who could view the scene nor
feel

Its gentle peace within him steal,
Nor in his inmost bosom bless
Its pure and radiant loveliness?
My heart bent down its willing knee
Before the glorious Deity;
Beauty led up my heart to Him,
Beauty, though cold, and poor, and
dim

Before His radiance, beauty still
That made my bosom deeply thrill;
To higher life my being wrought,
And purified my every thought,
Crept like soft music through my
mind,

Each feeling of my soul refined,
And lifted me that lovely even
One precious moment up to heaven.

Then, contrast wild, I saw the cloud The next day rear its sable crest, And heard with awe the thunder loud

Come crashing o'er thy blackening breast.

Down swooped the eagle of the blast, One mass of foam was tossing high, Whilst the red lightnings, fierce and fast,

Shot from the wild and scowling

sky,

And burst in dark and mighty train
A tumbling cataract, the rain.
I saw within the driving mist
Dim writhing stooping shapes,―
the trees

That the last eve so softly kissed,

And birds so filled with melodies. Still swept the wind with keener shriek,

The tossing waters higher rolled, Still fiercer flashed the lightning's streak,

Still gloomier frowned the tempest's fold.

Ah, such, ah, such is life, I sighed,
That lovely yester-eve and this!
Now it reflects the radiant pride
Of youth and hope and promise}]
bliss,

Earth's future track an Eden seems Brighter than e'en our brightest dreams.

Again, the tempest rushes o'er,
The sky's blue smile is seen no more,
The placid deep to foam is tossed,
All trace of beauty, peace, is lost,
Despair is hovering, dark and wild,
Ah! what can save earth's stricken
child?

Sweet sylvan lake! beside thee new, Villages point their spires to heaven, Rich meadows wave, broad grainfields bow,

The axe resounds, the plough is driven:

Down verdant points come herds to drink,

Flocks strew, like spots of snow, thy brink;

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