Of the earth, to return with no to-morrow; EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRLS' SCHOOL. This is one of the many beautiful compositions of Mrs. HEMANS, whose poetry has this remarkable character, that, beautiful as it is in portions, it will not bear to be read continuously in a volume. Perhaps this is the consequence of the perfection of its mechanism, for in rhythm and rhyme-in the music of verse-she is unrivalled. Pleasing at first, this unbroken smoothness palls by repetition and becomes monotony. Nevertheless, many of her minor poems are full of the truest poetry of thought, and the strain is in exquisite harmony with the sentiment. Such a poem is the following. HUSH! 'tis a holy hour-the quiet room Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds A faint and starry radiance through the gloom And the sweet stillness, down on bright young heads, Gaze on,-'tis lovely!-childhood's lip and cheek, Oh! joyous creatures, that will sink to rest Lightly, when those pure orisons are done, Though fresh within your breasts th' untroubled springs And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wings Her lot is on you-silent tears to weep, And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour, To pour on broken reeds a wasted shower; Her lot is on you-to be found untired, Watching the stars out by the bed of pain, And take the thought of this calm vesper time, 1 ANNABEL LEE. EDGAR ALLAN POE, an American, is the author of this fanciful lyric, which is thoroughly original in its structure, turn of thought and expression-a sportive and almost careless composition, but a flash of true genius. Ir was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know And this maiden she lived with no other thought I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea: But we loved with a love that was more than love- With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven And this was the reason that, long ago, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, That the wind came out of the cloud by night, But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of many far wiser than we And neither the angels in heaven above, For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes And so all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Brilliants. Under this title we purpose to string together short passages of peculiar beauty, scattered among the larger productions of the poets. Where italic is used it is with intent to direct the particular attention of the reader to some fine thought for which it is remarkable. MORNING. On his shoulders Night Throwing his ebon mantle rent with storms Grimly retired, as up th' ethereal steep J. F. PENNIE. EVENING, 'Twas one of those ambrosial eves MEMORY. She was a form of life and light MOORE. BYRON. RUINS. Among the ruin'd temples there, Of more than man, where marble demons watch INNOCENCE. SHELLEY. No tear Hath fill'd his eye save that of thoughtful joy In pictured speech, and others have wax'd loud With sceptic smile, or from some slender vein TALFOURD. MUSIC. Let music Charm with her excellent voice an awful silence AN OLD TALE. 'Tis a ditty DECKER. Not of these days; but long ago 'twas told And then the forest told it in a dream To a sleeping lake, whose cool and level gleam To Phoebus shrine. A SIMILE. KEATS. Graceful, when it pleased him, smooth and still Anchors her quiet beauty. WORDSWORTH. PANIC. Never was known a noise of such distraction! DRYDEN. |