Page:Littell's Living Age - Volume 140.pdf/651

SKATING.

A REMINISCENCE.

Where gleamed the ice-bound river, smooth and wide,
I led her, o'er the crisp and sparkling snow.
Then, while the frost-elves kissed a richer glow
To maiden cheeks, we floated, side by side,
Free as the winds, and swift as shadows glide,
Down, down the broad, bright pathway.
Borne on so, It were a joyous fate, it seemed, to go
Forever with her down that charmed tide.
But now the western clouds were fringed with flame;
Above the pale hills hung the crescent moon;
Stars through the deep-blue burned; and, as the day
To dusky twilight yielded, back we came,
Across the numb and drowsy land, till soon
We saw the home lights twinkling far away.

Transcript.Henry Terrell.

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A FLOWER.

Fair Maid of February! — drop of snow
Enchanted to a flow'r, and therewithin
A dream of April green, — who without sin
Conceived wast, but how no man may know;
I would thou mightest, being of heavenly kin,
Pray for us all (thy lips are pure, altho'
The soil be soak'd with tears and blood), to win
Some pity somewhere for man's grievous woe.

A foolish phantasy and fond conceit!
Yet mark this little white-green bell, three-cleft,
And muse upon it. Earth is not bereft
Of miracles; lo, here is one complete:
And after this the whole new springtime left,
And all the roses that make summer sweet.

Fraser's Magazine.

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More sweet than smiles are tears which rise unbidden
When some fair scene first dawns upon our eyes,
A gift of joy, by nature long kept hidden,
That thrills us with the rapture of surprise.

But dearer yet and deeper is our feeling
When some fair deed by one we love is wrought,
Some unexpected grace of soul revealing,
The lovely blossom of some secret thought.

Oh! in those moments of divine emotion
The darkening veil of doubt is rent apart;
More near us seems the God of our devotion,
The heaven we hope for dwells within our heart.

Spectator.Lady Charlotte Elliott.

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MORTALITY.

How do the roses die?
Do their leaves fall together,
Thrown down and scattered by the sky
Of angry weather?
No, the sad thunderstroke
O'ersweeps their lowly bower;
The storm that tramples on the oak
Relents above the flower.

No violence makes them grieve,
No wrath hath done them wrong,
When with sad secrecy they leave
The branch to which they clung.
They yield them, one by one,
To the light breeze and shower,
To the soft dew, cool shade, bright sun,
Time and the hour.

Spectator.J. S. D.

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A REPROACH, AND ITS ANSWER.

The Sun cried to the laughing Sea,
"Leave thy sweet wiling!
Hast thou no depths of love in thee,
Too deep for smiling?"
But ever, till the day was done,
The Sea turned laughing to the Sun.

But in the darkness and the storm,
Could he discover
What terrors toss, what fears deform H
His laughing lover?
Oh! vainly love prays love be sad,
When his mere presence makes her glad.

Spectator.F. W. B.