SONNETS.

I. ON A WARM NOVEMBER DAY.

Is this November? It must surely be
That some sweet May day, like a merry girl
With eye of laughing blue, and golden curl,
In the excess of her light-hearted glee,

Has run too far from home, and lost her way; And now she trembles, while upon the air Flutter the rainbow ribands of her hair,

And her warm breath comes quick, for fear her play Should into danger her wild footsteps bring! She sees herself upon the barren heath Where, happily, November slumbereth: What, should he wake, and find her trespassing! Yet, weep not, wanderer! for I know ere night Thou wilt be home again laughing with safe delight.

II. ON THE APPROACH OF WINTER.

Now comes the herald of stern Winter. Hear
The blast of his loud trumpet through the air,
Bidding collected families prepare

For the fierce king, without delay or fear;
Not seacoal fires alone, or cordial cheer

Of generous wine, or raiment thick and warm,
Though these may make the bleak and boisterous
A picture for the eye, and music for the ear; [storm
But laws of kindness, simple and sincere,
Patient forbearance, and sweet cheerfulness,
And gentle charity that loves to bless-
To hide all faults as soon as they appear.
Without such stores, bought by no golden price,
Winter may freeze the human blood to ice!

III. THOUGHT.

So truly, faithfully, my heart is thine,
Dear Thought, that when I am debarred from thee
By the vain tumult of vain company;
And when it seems to be the fixed design
Of heedless hearts, who never can incline
Themselves to seek thy rich though hidden charms,
To keep me daily from thy outstretched arms-
My soul sinks faint within me, and I pine

As lover pines when from his love apart,
Who, after having been long loved, long sought,
At length has given to his persuasive art
Her generous soul with hope and fear full fraught:
For thou'rt the honored mistress of my heart,
Pure, quiet, bountiful, beloved Thought!

IV. HOPE.

LIKE the glad skylark, who each early morn
Springs from his shady nest of weeds or flowers,
And whether stormy clouds, or bright, are born,
Pierces the realm of sunshine and of showers;
And with untiring wing and steady eye,
And never ceasing song, (so loud and sweet,
So full of trusting love, that it is meet

It should be poured forth at heaven's portals high,)
Bears up his sacrifice of gratitude :

So Hope the one, the only Hope-spreads out Her wings from the heart's tearful solitude, (Shadowed too oft with weeds,) quivers about

LIKE the full-hearted nightingale,
Who careth not to sing her sad, sweet strain
To open Daylight; but when pale
And thoughtful Evening sheds o'er plain,
And hill, and vale, a quiet sense
Of loneliness unbroken, then she gives
Her soul to the deep influence
Of silence and of shade, and lives
A life of mournful melody

In one short night: so Memory,
Shrinking from daylight's glare and noise,
Reserves her melancholy joys

For the dark stillness of the holy night,
And then she pours them forth till dawning light.

LILIES.

EVERY flower is sweet to me-
The rose and violet,

The pink, the daisy, and sweet pea,
Heart's-ease and mignonette,

And hyacinths and daffodillies:
But sweetest are the spotless lilies.

I know not what the lilies were
That grew in ancient times-
When Jesus walked with children fair,
Through groves of eastern climes,
And made each flower, as he passed by it,
A type of faith, content, and quiet.

But they were not more pure and bright
Than those our gardens show;
Or those that shed their silver light,
Where the dark waters flow;
Or those that hide in wood and alley,
The fragrant lilies of the valley.

And I, in each of them, would see
Some lesson for my youth:
The loveliness of purity,

The stateliness of truth,
Whene'er I look upon the lustre
Of those that in the garden cluster.

Patience and hope, that keep the sou.
Unruffled and secure,
Though floods of grief beneath it roll,
I learn, when calm and pure

I see the floating water-lily,
Gleam amid shadows dark and chilly

And when the fragrance that ascends,
Shows where its lovely face
The lily of the valley bends,

I think of that sweet grace,
Which sheds within the spirit lowly,
A rest, like heaven's, so safe and holy

TO NATURE.

Rocks, and woods, and water,

I am now with ye!

What a grateful daughter
Ought I not to be!

Alone with Nature-oh, what bliss,
What a privilege is this!

Give me now a blessing,
Help my tongue to speak
The feelings that are pressing

Till my heart grows weak-
Faint with the strange influence
Of this wild magnificence.

I shut my eyes a minute,
Listening to the sound:
Music is there in it,

Stirring and profound!
Wild-voiced waters, babbling breeze,
Telling tales of aged trees:

And the echoes-hearken!
There they chiefly dwell,
Where those huge rocks darken
That green woody dell:
Hearken with what joy they spring,
When the village church bells ring!

Up I look, and follow

With my eyes the sound, Fading in the hollow

Of the hills around;

Then I clasp my hands and sigh,
That so soon the echoes die.

And think how fleetly
Pleasures that we prize,
Like the echoes, sweetly
Fade before our eyes:

But 't is well, 't is well for me,
Prone to earth idolatry.

Oh! ye kingly mountains,
With your cedar woods;
Closing diamond fountains
In their solitudes:

In my very soul ye dwell-
Can I love ye then too well?

Oh! ye clouds of glory,
That your crimson throw
On the old rocks hoary,

While the stream below
Sleeps in an unbroken shade:
Can too much of ye be made?

Can I love to linger

In this quiet nook,
Tracing Nature's finger

Reading Nature's book,
Till such lingering be wrong-
Reading, tracing there too long?

If so, 'tis no pity;
For too soon, alas!

To the imprisoning city

From these haunts I pass, And this quiet nook will be Seen alone in memory.

Rocks, and woods, and water,
Now I am with ye,
And a grateful daughter
Ever will I be-

Loving ye, e'en when ye are
From my loving heart afar.

THE SUN.

WHEN the bounteous summer-time
Threw the riches of its prime,
Corn and grass, and fruit and flowers
Upon meadows, fields, and bowers;
When the teeming earth below
Seemed to quiver in the glow
Of the sky, intensely bright
With luxuriant, melting light -
Then we ever tried to shun
The advances of the sun:
Flying from his burning glance,
If he looked at us by chance;
Shutting out his beams, if they
Ever boldly dared to stray
To our dark and fragrant room,
Rendered cool by quiet gloom.
Now the summer time is gone,
And the winds begin to mourn;
Now the yellow leaves fall down,
And the grass is turning brown,
And the flowers are dying fast;
Now the chill, destroying blast,
Seems to whisper in the vine
A sad warning of decline-
We invoke the sun's warm ray,
And we bless it all the day;
Looking up, as to a friend,
When its beams on us descend;
And we watch it down the west,
As it early sinks to rest:

Then, with sorrow at our hearts,
Sigh, "How soon the sun departs!"
So, in brightest summer tide
Of prosperity and pride,

When our friends are kind and warm,
And we dream not of the storm-
Then we hide in our recess
From the Sun of Righteousness,
Closing up our soul and sight

To his strong and piercing light.

But when the autumn blast

Of desertion sweepeth past,

Then we cry-by grief made bɔld—
"We are desolate and cold!
Let thy beams descend, and heal
The sou'-smarting wounds we feel;
Shine upon us, Christ our Sun-
Without thee we are undone !"

MISS EMILY BRADLEY, a native of the city of Hudson, in New York, was married in 1846 to the late Joseph C. Neal, of Philadelphia, an author and a man who will be regretted while any of his acquaintances are living. She was educated at a boarding-school in New Hampshire, and was known as a wri ter by many spirited compositions, chiefly it prose, published under the signature of "Al

ice G. Lee." After the death of Mr. Neal, in the summer of 1847, Mrs. Neal continued, in Philadelphia, with much tact and ability, the popular journal of which he was the editor, called Neal's Saturday Evening Gazette. She afterwards married Mr. Samuel L. Haven, of New York, and wrote a number of children's books under the nom de plume of "Cousin Alice."

THE BRIDE'S CONFESSION.

A SUDDEN thrill passed through my heart,
Wild and intense-yet not of pain—
I strove to quell quick-bounding throbs,
And scanned the sentence o'er again.
It might have been full idly penned

By one whose thoughts from love were free And yet, as if entranced, I read

Thou art most beautiful to me."

Thou didst not whisper I was loved;

There were no gleams of tenderness, Save those my trembling heart would hope That careless sentence might express. But while the blinding tears fell fast,

Until the words I scarce could see, There shone, as through a wreathing mist-"Thou art most beautiful to me."

To thee?-I cared not for all eyes,
So I was beautiful in thine!
A timid star, my faint, sad beams

Upon thy path alone should shine.
Oh, what was praise, save from thy lips?
And love should all unheeded be,
So I could hear thy bless d voice

Say, "Thou art beautiful to me."
And I have heard those very words-

Blushing beneath thine earnest gaze-.
Though thou perchance hadst quite forgot
They had been said in bygone days:
While clasped hand and circling arm
Then drew me nearer still to thee,
Thy low voice breathed upon mine ear- --
"Thou, love, art beautiful to me."

And, dearest, though thine eyes alone
May see in me a single grace,
I care not, so thou c'er canst find

A hidden sweetness in my face.
And if, as years and cares steal on,

Even that lingering light must flee, What matter, if from thee I hear

"Thou art still beautiful to me!"

MIDNIGHT AND DAYBREAK.

I HAD been tossing through the restless night,
Sleep banished from my pillow, and my brain
Weary with sense of dull and stifling pain,
Yearning and praying for the blessed light.
My lips moaned thy dear name, beloved one!
Yet I have seen thee lying stiff and cold,
Thy form bound only by the shroud's pure fold,
For life with all its suffering was done.
Then agony of loneliness o'ercame

My widowed heart; night would fit emblem seem
For the evanishing of that bright dream:
The heavens were dark, my life henceforth the same;
No hope-its pulse within my breast was dead.
Once more I sought the casement.
Lo! a ray,

Faint and uncertain, struggled through the gloom, And shed a misty twilight on the room; Long watched-for herald of the coming day! It brought a thrill of gladness to my breast. With clasped hands and streaming eyes I prayed, Thanking my God for light, though long delayed; And gentle calm stole o'er my wild unrest. "Oh soul!" I said, "thy boding murmurs cease; Though sorrow bind thee as a funeral pall, Thy Father's hand is guiding thee through all; His love will bring a true and perfect peace. Look upward once again: though drear the night, Earth may be darkness, Heav'n will give thee light."

THE CHURCH.

CLAD in a robe of pure and spotless white,
The youthful bride with timid step comes forth
To greet the hand to which she plights her troth,
Her soft eyes radiant with a strange delight.
The snowy veil which circles her around
Shades the sweet face from every gazer's eye,
And thus enwrapped, she passes calmly by-
Nor casts a look but on the unconscious ground
So should the Church, the bride elect of Heaven-
Remembering Whom she goeth forth to meet

And with a truth that can not brook deceit Holding the faith which unto her is givenPassthrough this world, which claims her for awhile, Nor cast about her longing look, nor smile.

BLIND!

I.

The hand of the operator wavered the instrument g.and aside-in a moment she was blind for life."

BLIND, said you? Blind for life!

"Tis but a jest―no, no, it can not be
That I no more the blessed light may see!
Oh, what a fearful strife

Of horrid thought is raging in my mind!
did not hear aright-" For ever blind!"

Mother, you would not speak

Aught but the truth to me, your stricken child: Tell me I do but dream; my brain is wild,

And yet my heart is weak.

Oh, mother! fold me in a close embrace-
Bend down to me that dear, that gentle face.

I can not hear your voice!

Speak louder, mother. Speak to me, and say
This frightful dream will quickly pass away.
Have I no hope, no choice?

O Heaven! with light has sound, too, from me fled?
Call, shout aloud, as if to wake the dead!

Thank God! I hear you now:

I hear the beating of your troubled heart;
With every wo of mine it has a part.

Upon my upturned brow

The hot tears fall from those dear eyes for me: Once more, oh is it true I may not see?

This silence chills my blood.

Had you one word of comfort, all my fears
Were quickly banished: faster still the tears,
A bitter, burning flood,

Fall on my face, and now one trembling word
Confirms the dreadful truth my cars have heard!

Why weep you?--I am calm:

My wan ip quivers not-my heart is still.
My swollen temples-see, they do not thrill!
That word was as a charm;

Tell me the worst: all, all I now can bear;
I have a fearful strength-that of despair.
What is it to be blind?-

To be shut out for ever from the skies-
To see no more the "light of loving eyes"-
And, as years pass, to find

My lot unvaried by one passing gleam

Of the bright woodland or the flashing stream?
To feel the breath of Spring,

Yet not to view one of the tiny flowers
That come from out the earth with her soft showers;
To hear the bright birds sing,

And feel, while listening to their joyous train,
My heart can ne'er know happiness again!

Then in the solemn night

To lie alone, while all anear me sleep,
And fancy fearful forms about me creep:
Starting in wild affright,

"God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb."-Sterne.
THANK God that yet I live!

In tender mercy, heeding not the prayer
I boldly uttered in my first despair,
He would not rashly give
The punishment an erring spirit braved.
From sudden death in kindness I was saved.

It was a fearful thought

That this fair earth had not one p'easure left!
I was at once of sight and hope bereft.
My soul was not yet taught

To bow submissive to the sudden stroke;
Its crushing weight my heart had well-nigh broke.

Words are not that can tell

The horrid thought that burned upon my brain, That came and went with madness still the sameA black and icy spell

That froze my life-blood, stopp'd my fluttering breath,
Was laid upon me-even "life in death."

Long, weary months crept by,
And I refused all comfort; turned aside,
Wishing that in my weakness I had died.

I uttered no reply,

But without ceasing wept and moaned, and prayed The hand of Death no longer might be stayed.

I shunned the gaze of all:

I knew that pity dwelt in every look;

Pity e'en then my proud heart could not brook;

Though darkness as a pall

Circled me round, each mournful eye 1 fell
That for a moment on my features dwelt.

You, dearest mother, know

I shrank in sullenness from your caress;
Even your kisses added to distress,

For burning tears would flow

As you bent o'er me, whispering, "Be calm,
He who hath wounded holds for thee a balm."

He did not seem a friend:

I deemed in wrath the sudden blow was sent
From a strong arm that never might relent;
That pain alone would end

With life-for, mother, then it seem to me
That long and dreamless would death's slumber be.

That blessed illness came :

My weakened pulse now bounded wild and strong, While soon a raging fever burned along

My worn, exhausted frame;

And for the time all knowledge passed away-
It mattered not that hidden was the day.

The odor of sweet flowers

Came stealing through the casement when I wok?, When the wild fever-spell at last was broke;

And yet for many hours

I laid in dreamy stillness, till your tone
Called back the life that seemed for ever flown.

You, mother, kne't in prayer;

While one dear hand was resting on my head,
With sobbing voice, how fervently you plead
For a strong heart, to bear

The parting which you feared—“Or, if she live,
Comfort, O Father, to the stricken give!

"Take from her wandering mind
The heavy load which it so long hath borne,
Which even unto death her frame hath worn:
Let her in mercy find,

That though the earth she may no longer see,
Her spirit still can look to Heaven and thee."

A low sob from me stole :

A moment more, your arms about me wound,
My head upon your breast a pillow found;
And through my weary soul

A holy calm came stealing from on high:
Your prayer was answered-I was not to die.

Then when the bell's faint chime
Came floating gently on the burdened air,
My heart went up to God in fervent prayer.
And, mother, from that time

My wild thoughts left me, hope returned once more: I felt that happiness was yet in store.

Daily new strength was given:

For the first time since darkness on me fell,

I passed with more of joy than words can tell
Under the free, blue heaven;

I bathed my brow in the cool, gushing spring: How much of life those bright drops seemed to bring!

I crushed the dewy leaves

Of the pale violets, and drank their breath-
Though I had heard that at each floweret's deatn
A sister blossom grieves.

I did not care to see their glorious hues,
Fearing the richer perfume I might lose.

Then in the dim old wood

I laid me down beneath a bending tree,
And dreamed, dear mother, waking dreams of thes
I thought how just and good

The Power that had so gently sealed mine eyes,
Yet bade new pleasures and new hopes arise.

SLOWLY fades the misty twilight

O'er the thronged and noisy town; Storms are gathered in the distance, And the clouds above it frown. Yet before me leaves sway lightly

In the hushed and drowsy air,
And the trees new-clothed in verdure
Have no summer of despair.

I have gazed into the darkness,
Seeking in the busy crowd
For a form once passing onward

With a step as firm and proud;
For a face upturned in gladness

To the window where I leaned, Smiling with an eager welcome, Though a step but intervened. Even now my check is flushing

With the rapture of that gaze, And my heart as then beats wildly.

Oh, the memory of those days
As a dear, dear dream it cometh,
Swiftly as a dream it flies!
No one springeth now unto me,

Smiling with such earnest eyes→→ No one hastens home at twilight, Watching for my hand to wave: For the form I seek so vainly

Sleepeth in the silent grave; And the eyes have smiled in dying Blessing me with latest lifeOh, my friend! above the discord Of the last, wild, earthly strife