To age, the river. silent, broad, and deep
Hiding the wealth of years within its breast--
Baffling the vain eye that would read its depths-
Broader and deeper growing, as the channel
Of life wears on!

SODUS BAY.

I BLESS thee, native shore!

Thy woodlands gay, and waters sparkling clear!
'Tis like a dream once more
The music of thy thousand waves to hear,
As, murmuring up the sand,

With kisses bright they lave the sloping land.

The gorgeous sun looks down,

Bathing thee gladly in his noontide ray;

And o'er thy headlands brown
With loving light the tints of evening play:
Thy whispering breezes fear

To break the calm so softly hallowed here.
Here, in her green domain,
The stamp of Nature's sovereignty is found;
With scarce disputed reign

She dwells in all the solitude around:

And here she loves to wear

The regal garb that suits a queen so fair.

Full oft my heart hath yearned

For thy sweet shades and vales of sunny rest; Even as the swan returned,

Stoops to repose upon thy azure breast,

I greet each welcome spot

Forsaken long-but ne'er, ah, ne'er forgot.

[left;

"T was here that memory grew— Twas here that childhood's hopes and cares were Its early freshness, too

Ere droops the soul, of her best joys bereft :
Where are they?--o'er the track

Of cold years, I would call the wanderers back!

They must be with thee still:

Thou art unchanged-as bright the sunbeams play:
From not a tree or hill

Hath time one hue of beauty snatched away
Unchanged alike should be

The blessed things so late resigned to thee.

Give back, oh, smiling deep,

The heart's fair sunshine, and the dreams of youth That in thy bosom sleep

Life's April innocence, and trustful truth!

The tones that breathed of yore
In thy lone murmurs, once again restore.
Where have they vanished all?—
Daly the heedless winds in answer sigh;
Still rushing at thy call,

With reckless sweep the streamlet flashes by!
And idle as the air,

Or fleeting stream, my soul's insatiate prayer.
Home of sweet thoughts-farewell!
Where'et through changeful life my lot may be,
A deep and hallowed spell

Is on thy waters and thy woods for me:
Though vainly fancy craves

Its childhood with the music of thy waves.

O'ER THE WILD WASTE. O'ER the wild waste where flowers of hope lay dead, And wan rays struggled faintly through the gloom, Like starbeams on the midnight waters shedThou hast brought back the sunshine and the bloom Like the free bird at heaven's blue portal singing, Thy coming heralded the auspicious morn; And golden songs, and airy shapes upspringing, In answering joy from night's dark breast were born. Thou art the flower, whence zephyrs' balm is stealing: The fountain, sparkling in the smile of day: The sunwrought iris, in the cloud revealing More tints than on the radiant sunset play. Blessings be with thee, oh, thou happy hearted! For thoughts of beauty, fresh, and glad, and wildFor visions of enchantment long departed, Bright as when first they dawned on Fancy's child' The Beautiful, that from life's sky had faded, Fleet dream of joy-ere passed the morning ray, Shines forth, by sorrow's wing no longer shaded, And pours again a sunshine on my way. No rainbow lustre to thy life's sweet dreaming, No gifts like thine. alas! can she impart, [ingWhose trust, lone dove o'er darkened waters gleamComes home to nestle in her pining heart! Yet go thy way, blest evermore and blessing! [prayer: Heaven scorns not, nor wilt thou, one deep heart's And mine shall be, that earth's best joys possessing, God's love may guard thee-his peculiar care!

SONG.

COME, fill a pledge to sorrow,

The song of mirth is o'er,
And if there's sunshine in our hearts,
"T will light our theme the more:
And pledge we dull life's changes,

As round the swift hours pass—
Too kind were fate, if none but gems
Should sparkle in Time's glass.

The dregs and foam together

Unite to crown the cup,

And well we know the weal and wo

That fill life's chalice up!

Life's sickly revellers perish

The goblet scarcely drained:

Then lightly quaff, nor lose the sweets
Which may not be retained.

What reck we that unequal

Its varying currents swell—

The tide that bears our pleasures down,
Buries our griefs as well;
And if the swift-winged tempest

Have crossed our changeful day,
The wind that tossed our bark has swept

Full many a cloud away.

Then grieve not that naught mortal

Endures through passing years: Did life one changeless tenor keep, 'T were cause, indeed, for tears. And fill we, ere our parting,

A mantling pledge to sorrow: The pang that wrings the heart to-lay Time's touch will heal to-morrow!

THE OLD LOVE.

THE old love-the old love—

It hath a master spell,

And in its home-the human heart

It worketh strong and well:
Ay, well and sure it worketh,
And casteth out amain
Intrusive shapes of evil-
A sullen, spectral train :
The serpent, Pride, is crested,

And Hate hath lips of gall; But the old love-the old love"Tis stronger than them all!

Years, weary years have vanished,

Lady, since whisperers wrought The work that sundered you and me, With words that poison thought: Ah! lasting is the sorrow

Of a deep and hidden wound, When with the coming morrow

No healing balm is found; And easy 'tis with words to hide The stricken spirit's yearning, And wear a look of icy pride

When the heart within is burning! Oh, 't is a bitter, bitter thing,

Beneath God's holy sky, To fill that sentient thing, the heart, With strife and enmity!

Yea, wo to those who plant the seed

That yieldeth naught but doleTo those who thus do murder

God's image in the soul!

Yet silently and softly

The dews of mercy fall:

And the old love-the old love

It triumphs over all.

It was but yestereven

A vision light and free,

From the old and happy dreamland,
Came gliding down to me:

A vision, lady, of the past,
The cottage far away,
Where you and I together
Oft sat at close of day-
Where you and I together

Oft watched the starlit skies,
And the soul of gentle kindness
Beamed on me from your eyes:

And there were gentle voices,

Like some remembered song,
And there were hovering shadows,
A pale and beauteous throng!
They seemed like blessed angels,
Those kindly memories--

That floated on their beaming wings,
To steep the soul in peace'
They smiled upon me softly,

Though ne'er a word was spokeAnd then the golden past came back, And then-my proud heart broke!

And, lady, from the vision
I wistful rose to pray,
That unto ruling love might be
The victory alway:

Oh, many are its cruel foes-
A host well armed and strong,
And that fair garnished chamber

Hath been their divelling long :
But the old love-the old love-
It hath a master spell,

And in its home-the human heartIt worketh sure and well!

THE SEA-KINGS.

"They are rightly named sea-kings," says the author of the Inglinga saga, who never seek shelter under a roof, and never dran wer drinking-horn at a cottage fire.”

Our realm is mighty Ocean,

The broad and sea-green wave
That ever hails our greeting gaze-

Our dwelling-place and grave!
For us the paths of glory lie

Far on the swelling deep;
And, brothers to the Tempest,
We shrink not at his sweep!
Our music is the storm-blast

In fierceness revelling nigh,
When on our graven bucklers gleam
His lightnings glancing by.
Yet most the flash of war-steel keen
Is welcome in our sight,
When flies the startled foeman
Before our falchions' light.
We ask no peasant's shelter,

We seek no noble's bowers;
Yet they must yield us tribute meet,
For all they boast is ours.
No castled prince his wide domain
Dares from our yoke to free;
And, like mystericus Odin,

We rule the land and sea!

Rear high the blood-red banner!
Its folds in triumph wave—
And long unsullied may it stream
The standard of the brave!
Our swords outspeed the meteor's glance:
The world their might shall know,
So long as heaven snines o'er us,
Or ocean roils below!

VENICE. From afar

The surgelike tone of multitudes, the hum
Of glad, familiar voices, and the wild,
Faint music of the happy gondolier,
Float up in Elended murmurs. Queen of cities'
Goddess of ocean! with the beauty crowned
Of Aphrodite from her parent deep!

If thine Ausonian heaven denies the strength
That nerves a mountain race of sterner mould.
It gives thee charms whose very softness wins
All hearts to worship!

SONNETS.

MARY MAGDALEN.

FLESSED, tho' grief and shame o'erflow thine eyes;
Blessed, though scoffed at by the gazing crowd:
He unto whom thou kneelst rebukes the proud,
And bids thee now the child of Heaven arise.
Hath he rot said, that where the bramble grew
The myrtle should come up? the sweet fir tree
Replace the thorn, and grass abundantly
Wave where the desert land no moisture knew?
But see the bleak and lonely wilderness
With fragrant roses, like a garden bloom-
The perished tree revive, again to bless!
See, fed with streams, the thirsty land rejoice-
And hear the waste lift up its g'adsome voice,
"To taste his fruits, let my Beloved come."

THE GOOD SHEPHERD.

SHEPHERD,with meek brow wreathed with blossoms sweet,

Who guardst thy timid flock with tenderest care, Who guid'st in sunny paths their wandering feet, And the young lambs dost in thy bosom bear; Who leadst thy happy flock to pastures fair, And by still waters at the noon of day-Charming with lute divine the silent air, What time they linger on the verdant way: Good Shepherd! might one gentle, distant strain Of that immortal melody sink deep Into my heart, and pierce its careless sleep,

And melt by powerful love its sevenfold chain: Oh, then my soul thy voice should know, and flee To mingle with thy flock, and ever follow Thee!

OH, WEARY HEART.

Оn, weary heart, there is a rest for thee!

Oh truant heart, there is a blessed homeAn isle of gladness on life's wayward sea, Where storms that vex the waters never come; There trees perennial yield their balmy shade,

There flower-wreathed hils in sun it beauty sleep, There meek streams murmur thro' the verdant glade, There heaven bends smiling o'er the placid deep. Winnowed by wings immortal that fair isle; Vocal its air with music from above: There meets the exile eye a welcoming smile; There ever speaks a summoning voice of love Unto the heavy-laden and distressed, "Come unto me, and I will give you rest."

Abide with us: let us not lose thee yet!
Lest unto us the cloud of fear return,

When we are left to mourn
That Israel's Hope--his better Sun-is set!
Oh, teach us more of what we long to know,
That new-born joy may chide our faithless wo."
Thus in their sorrow the disciples prayed,
And knew not He was walking by their side
Who on the cross had died!

But when he broke the consecrated bread,
Then saw they who had deigned to bless their board,
And in the stranger hailed their risen Lord.
"Abide with us!" Thus the believer prays,
Compassed with doubt and bitterness and dread-
When, as life from the dead,

The bow of mercy breaks upon his gaze :
He trusts the word, yet fears lest from his heart
He whose discourse is peace too soon depart.
Open, thou trembling one, the portal wide,
And to the inmost chamber of thy breast
Take home the heavenly guest!
He for the famished shall a feast provide-
And thou shalt taste the bread of life, and se?
The Lord of angels come to sup with thee.
Beloved-who for us with care hast sought-
Say, shall we hear thy voice, and let thee wait
All night before the gate-

Wet with the dews-nor greet thee as we ought?
Oh, strike the fetters from the hand of pride,
And, that we perish not, with us, O Lord, abide !

THE PERSECUTED.

Oh angel! thine be threefold bliss in heaven, For thou on this dark earth hast much forgiven.

Ir was a bitter pain

That pierced her gentle heart;
For barbed by malice was the dart,
And sped with treachery's deadliest art,
The shaft ne'er sped in vain.
That trusting heart, so true,
(For guile it never knew!)
The tender heart, that ever clung
Where its wild wreath of love was flung-
The proud, high heart, that could have borne
All, save that false, unrighteous scorn-
It writhed beneath the stroke

Of that strange, cruel wrong:
Yet not-not then it broke-
For brave it was and strong!
"T was like the started dove,
Scared from her woody nest-
Her sheltered home of love,

Deep in the mountain's breast:
When first she mounts, the caverns ring
To the wild flapping of her wing;
But once aloft, she cleaves the light,
And floats in calm, unruffled flight.
Thus struggling o'er the wo to rise,
The stricken, heart-distempered flies-
Thus soars at last, its pain and peril o'er,
Serene in tranquil pride, to fear the shaft no more

A DIRGE.*

He is gone! Though mournfully
Comes the deep, heart-heavéd sigh,
Though your tears do fall like rain,
Though no outward sign could show
All the bosom's wordless wo-
All is in vain :

He, for whom ye, stricken, mourn,
He, the lost one, shall return
Never again!

To the grave in silence down,
To the sullen, rayless gloom
In the chambers of the tomb,
He now is gone!

With his trustful, generous truth,
In his guileless, joyous youth-
In his gentle constancy,

In his young heart's purity;
Wearing life's wreath blooming, bright,
That had known no touch of blight;
With the genius God had given,
In the very smile of Heaven;
Smiling all around, above him,
Knowing none who did not love him-
He hath passed away!

Ye who strove his flight to stay, Well ye know that he you mourn Never caused your hearts a pain, Till he left you, to return

Never again!

Pass with measured pace and slow,
Hide the faces pale with wo;
Solemn music, sad and low,
Fill the hallowed aisle !
Let the the darkly-folded pall
Like a shadow o'er him fall-
Him-your joy e'erwhile;
Let the slowly sounding bell
Peal its deep-voiced, warning knell:
To the earth, with words of trust,
Then commit him-dust to dust!
Weep now for the lonely morrow,
For the hearthlight cold—
In your dark and silent sorrow,

Hearts with grief grown old:
Ye have trod the vintage dread,
Till no purple drops remain;
Till no more its wine is shed

Ye have drained the cup of pain. And ye know, as years go on, And are numbered one by one, This same grief shall have its rest In the worn and wounded breast;

Ye shall look and long in vain, Following still in thought the track He has passed, who will come back Never again!

Friends of youth, too, he left,
When he departed:

They are weeping now, bereft

They, the true hearted.

In style and measure, this is an imitation of a poem by

an English author, entitled The Flight of Youth.

Desolate is now the place
Where so late they saw his face,
And a darkness seems to brood

On the sudden solitude.
Soon the places that of yore

Knew, shall know the lost no more;
Soon forgotten he shall be,

He who all so happy made With his smile so light and free,

Bringing sunshine to the shade. Ay, between those hearts and him Lies a gulf so dark and dim, Eyes of flesh look not upon

That strange distant shore, Whither the lost friend is gone To return no more!

Alas! 'tis even so :

Yet from that unknown land,
That house not made with mortal hand,
Can not the parted soul command
Some balm for earthly wo?

Blessed the dead, the Spirit saith,

Who life's beguiling path have trod Obedient to the law of faith,

With heart still fixed on God. Eye hath not seen that world above; Ear hath not heard that hymn of love: Oh, if but once were rent away The veil which hides that heavenly day, On this cold earth we would not stay! Heard we the harpings of that sphere, We would not linger here! Yea, we would spurn this darksome earth, And stretch our eager wings, and fly To claim our heritage by birth

Heaven and Eternity!

Nor marvel-in that glorious land,
Who taste the joys at God's right hand,
Where love divine doth reign-
Who Heaven's own praises learn-
To this sad earth return

Never again!

THE BURIAL.

WE laid her in the hallowed place

Beside the solemn deep,

Where the old woods by Greenwood's shore
Keep watch o'er those who sleep:

We laid her there-the young and fair,
The guileless, cherished one-
As if a part of life itself

With her we loved were gone.

Like to the flowers she lived and bloomed,
As bright and pure as they;

And like a flower the blight had touched,
She early passed away.

Oh, none might know her but to love,
Nor name her but to praise,
Who only love for others knew

Through life's brief vernal days

THE late Mrs. Mayo describes the life of Mrs. SCOTT as having been "commenced in one of the quietest mountain valleys, and, with one or two brief episodes only, matured and finished not a dozen miles from where it was begun." In such a career there could have been little to interest the public, and ner friend appropriately confined the memoir prefixed to her poems as much as possible to the growth and product of her mind. Mrs. Scott's maiden name was JULIA H. KINNEY, and she was born on the fourth of November, 1809, in the beautiful valley of Sheshequin, in northern Pennsylvania. Her parents were in humble circumstances, and as the eldest of a large family she seems to have lived the patient Griselda, beautifully fulfilling all the duties of her condition, while she , availed herself of every opportunity to enlarge her knowledge and improve her tastes. She wrote verses with some point and har mony when but twelve years of age, and when sixteen or seventeen began to publish

in a village newspaper essays and poems that evinced a fine fancy and earnest feeling. She afterward wrote for The Casket, a monthly magazine published in Philadelphia, for The New-Yorker, and for the Universalist religious journals. In May, 1835, she was married to Dr. David L. Scott, of Towanda, the principal village of the county, which from this period became her home. In 1838 she visited Boston, and she made some other excursions for the improvement of her health, but consumption had wasted the singularly fine person and blanched the beautiful face which I remember to have seen in their meridian, and in the last year of her life she had no hope of restoration. She died at Towanda on the fifth of March, 1842.

The poems of Mrs. Scott, with a memoir by Miss S. C. Edgarton, (afterward Mrs. Mayo,) were published in Boston, in 1843. The volume contains an excellent portrait of her by S. A. Mount, and several commemorative poems by her friends.

THE TWO GRAVES.

THEY Sweetly slumber, side by side,
Upon the green and pleasant hill
Where the young morning's sunny tide

First wakes the shadows, dark and stil!,
And where gray twilight's breeze goes by
Laden with woodland melody,
And Heaven's own tireless watchmen keep
A vigil o'er their slumbers deep.
They sleep together-but their

graves

Are marked by no sepulchral stone; Above their heads no willow waves, No cypress shade is o'er them thrown: The only record of their deeds Is that where silent Memory leads, Their only monument of fame

Is found in each beloved name.

Oh, theirs was not the course which seals The favor of a fickle world,

They did not raise the warring steel,

Their hands no bloody flag unfurled, They came not with a cup of wrath, To drench with gall life's thorny path, But, day and night, they strove to win, By love, the palsied so from sin.

Like two bright stars at eventide,

They shone with undiminished ray;
And though clouds gathered far and wide,
Still held they on their upward way,
And still unheeded swept them by
The threatenings of this lower sky-
For they had built upon the Rock,
Defying tide and tempest's shock.
To them the vanities of life

Were but as bubbles of the sea:
They shunned the boisterous swell of strife;
From Pride's low thrall their souls were

free.

They only sought by Christ to show
The Father's love for all below;
They only strove through Christ to raise
The wandering mind from error's maze.

But now they sleep-and oh, may ne'er
One careless footstep press the sod
Where moulder those we held so dear,
The friends of man, the friends of God!
And let alone warm feeling twine
An offering at their lowly shrine;
While all who knew them humbly try
Like them to live, like them to die.