There's not a flower upon the hill,
There's not a leaf upon the tree:
The summer bird has left its bough,
Bright child of sunshine, singing now
In spicy lands beyond the sea!
There's stillness in the harvest field;
And blackness in the mountain glen;
And clouds that will not pass away
From the hill-tops for many a day;
And stillness round the homes of men.
THE PALM-TREE.
It waved not through an eastern sky,
Beside a fount of Araby;
It was not fann'd by southern breeze,
In some green isle of Indian seas:
Nor did its graceful shadow sleep
O'er stream of Afric, lone and deep.
But fair the exiled palm-tree grew
'Midst foliage of no kindred hue;
Through the laburnum's dropping gold
Rose the light shaft of orient mould,
And Europe's violets, faintly sweet,
Purpled the moss-beds at its feet.
Strange looked it there!-the willow stream'd
Where silvery waters near it gleamed;
The lime bough lured the honey-bee
To murmur by the desert's tree,
And showers of snowy roses made
A lustre in its fan-like shade.
There came an eve of festal hours-
Rich music fill'd that garden's bowers:
Lamps, that from flowering branches hung,
On sparks of dew soft colour flung,
And bright forms glanc'd-a fairy show-
Under the blossoms to and fro.
But one, a lone one, 'midst the throng,
Seem'd reckless all of dance and song:
He was a youth of dusky mien,
Whereon the Indian sun had been,
Of crested brow and long black hair-
A stranger like the palm-tree, there.
And slowly, sadly moved his plumes,
Glittering athwart the leafy glooms:
He pass'd the pale green olives by,
Nor won the chestnut flowers his eye;
But when to that sole palm he came,
Then shot a rapture throngh his frame!
To him, to him its rustling spoke,
The silence of his soul it broke;
It whisper'd of his own bright isle,
That lit the ocean with a smile;
Ay, to his ear that native tone
Had something of the sea wave's moan!
His mother's cabin home, that lay
Where feathery cocoas fringed the bay;
The dashing of his brethren's oar-
The conch-note heard along the shore;
All through his wakening bosom swept,
He clasped his country's tree and wept!
Oh, scorn him not!-the strength whereby
The patriot girds himself to die,
Th' unconquerable power which fills
The freeman battling on his hills—
These have one fountain deep and clear-
The same whence gush'd that childlike tear!
Mrs. Hemans.
THE RECOGNITION.
-With a noise like distant thunder,
A troop of deer came sweeping by;
And, suddenly, behold a wonder!
For One, among those rushing deer,
A single One, in mid career
Hath stopped, and fixed her large full eye
Upon the lady Emily;
A Doe most beautiful, clear-white,
A radiant creature, silver-bright!
Thus checked a little while it stayed;
A little thoughtful pause it made;
And then advanced with stealth-like pace,
Drew softly near her, and more near-
Looked round-but saw no cause for fear;
So to her feet the creature came,
And laid its head upon her knee,
And looked into the lady's face,
A look of pure benignity,
And fond unclouded memory.
It is, thought Emily, the same,
The very Doe of other years!
The pleading look the lady viewed,
And by her gushing thoughts subdued,
She melted into tears-
A flood of tears, that flowed apace
Upon the happy creature's face.
THE HAUNTS OF HAPPINESS.
True happiness had no localities,
No tones provincial, no peculiar garb.
Where duty went, she went, with justice went,
And went with meekness, charity, and
love.
Where'er a tear was dried, a wounded heart
Bound up, a bruised spirit with the dew
Of sympathy anointed, or a pang
Of honest suffering soothed, or injury
Repeated oft, as oft by love forgiven;
Where'er an evil passion was subdued,
Or virtue's feeble embers fann'd, where'er
A sin was heartily abjured, and left;
There was a high and holy place, a spot
Of sacred light, a most religious fane,
Where happiness, descending, sat and smil-
A CHRISTMAS CAROL.
The shepherds went their hasty way,
And found the lowly stable shed,
Where the virgin Mother lay:
And now they checked their eager
tread,
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