WILLIAM WETMORE STORY. THE VIOLET. let, O FAINT, The young moon's silver arc, her per fect circle tells, outline dwells. delicious, spring-time vio- The limitless, within Art's bounded Thine odor, like a key, Turns noiselessly in memory's wards Of every noble work, the silent part to let A thought of sorrow free. WETMORE COTTAGE, NAHANT. THE hours on the old piazza That overhangs the sea, With a tender and pensive music A spring goes singing through its And again, o'er the balcony lean reedy grass; The lark sings o'er my head, ing, We list to the surf on the beach, Drowned in the sky.-Oh, pass, ye That fills with its solemn warning visions, pass! I would that I were dead! The intervals of speech. Why hast thou opened that forbidden We three sit at night in the moon door light, As we sat in the summer gone, And we talk of art and nature And sing as we sit alone; We sing the old songs of Sorrento, Where oranges hang o'er the sea, And our hearts are tender with dreaming Of days that no more shall be. How gaily the hours went with us In those old days that are gone! Ah! would we were all together. Where now I am standing alone. Could life be again so perfect? Ah, never! these years so drain The heart of its freshness of feel. ing,— But I long, though the longing be vain. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. LIFE'S MYSTERY. LIFE'S mystery, -deep, restless as the ocean, Hath surged and wailed for ages to and fro; Earth's generations watch its ceaseless motion As in and out its hollow moanings flow; Shivering and yearning by that unknown sea, Let my soul calm itself, O Christ, in thee! Life's sorrows, with inexorable pow er, Sweep desolation o'er this mortal plain; And human loves and hopes fly as the chaff Borne by the whirlwind from the ripened grain: Ah, when before that blast my hopes all flee, Let my soul calm itself, O Christ, in thee! Between the mysteries of death and life Thou standest, loving, guiding,— not explaining; beat, Sweet helping hands are stirred, We ask, and thou art silent,—yet we | And palpitates the veil between gaze, And our charmed hearts forget their drear complaining! No crushing fate,-no stony destiny! Thou Lamb that hast been slain, we With breathings almost heard. To close the eye, and close the ear, Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, All sorrow and all care. Sweet souls around us! watch us still, Let death between us be as naught, Our suffering life, the dream. ALFRED BILLINGS STREET. [From Frontenac.] QUEBEC AT SUNRISE. THE fresh May morning's earliest light, From where the richest hues were blended, Lit on Cape Diamond's towering height Whose spangled crystals glittered bright, Thence to the castle roof descended, And bathed in radiance pure and deep [steep. The spires and dwellings of the Still downward crept the strengthening rays; The lofty crowded roofs below And Cataraqui caught the glow, Till the whole scene was in a blaze. The scattered bastions, walls of stone With bristling lines of cannon crowned, Whose muzzles o'er the landscape frowned Blackly through their embrasures shone. Point Levi's woods sent many a wreath Of mist, as though hearths smoked beneath, Whilst heavy folds of vapor gray The banks of Orleans' Isle displayed. [From Frontenac.] QUEBEC AT SUNSET. 'Twas in June's bright and glowing prime The loveliest of the summer time. The laurels were one splendid sheet Of crowded blossom everywhere; The locust's clustered pearl was sweet, [air And the tall whitewood made the Delicious with the fragrance shed From the gold flowers all o'er it spread. In the rich pomp of dying day Quebec, the rock-throned monarch, glowed, Castle and spire and dwelling gray The batteries rude that niched their way Along the cliff, beneath the play In flashing glory flowed; Until the downward view Was closed by mountain-tops that, reared Against the burnished sky, appeared In misty dreamy hue. West of Quebec's embankments rose The forests in their wild repose. Between the trunks, the radiance slim Here came with slant and quiver ing blaze; Whilst there, in leaf-wreathed arbors The moose at morn the ripples dim, Was gathering gray the twilight's haze. Where cut the boughs the background glow That striped the west, a glittering belt, The leaves transparent seemed, as though In the rich radiance they would melt. Upon a narrow grassy glade, The light streaked down in golden Kindled the shrubs, the greensward kissed, Until the clover-blossoms white Flashed out like spangles large and bright. This green and sun-streaked glade With sights and sounds of forest life. A flicker rattled on a tree; ear From thicket to thicket a rabbit sped, And on the short delicate grass a deer Lashing the insects from off him, fed. [From Frontenac.] THE CANADIAN SPRING. 'TWAS May! the spring with magic bloom Leaped up from winter's frozen tomb. Day lit the river's icy mail; drank. sweet; Then came the wren with carols gay, The customed roof and porch to greet; The mockbird showed its varied skill; The bland warm rain at evening | At evening moaned the whippoor sank; will. Ice fragments dashed in midnight's Type of the spring from winter's The butterfly new being found; Whilst round the pink may-apple's bloom, Gave myriad drinking bees their sound. Great fleeting clouds the pigeons made; When near her brood the hunter strayed With trailing limp the partridge stirred; Whilst a quick, feathered spangle shot Rapid as thought from spot to spot Showing the fairy humming-bird. [From Frontenac.] CAYUGA LAKE. SWEET sylvan lake! in memory's gold Is set the time, when first my eye From thy green shore beheld thee hold Thy mirror to the sunset sky! No ripple brushed its delicate air, Rich silken tints alone were there; The far opposing shore displayed, Mingling its hues, a tender shade; A sail scarce seeming to the sight To move, spread there its pinion white, Like some pure spirit stealing on Its gentle peace within him steal, Before His radiance, beauty still Each feeling of my soul refined, Then, contrast wild, I saw the cloud The next day rear its sable crest, And heard with awe the thunder loud Come crashing o'er thy blackening breast. Down swooped the eagle of the blast, One mass of foam was tossing high, Whilst the red lightnings, fierce and fast, Shot from the wild and scowling sky, And burst in dark and mighty train Dim writhing stooping shapes,— the trees That the last eve so softly kissed, And birds so filled with melodies. Still swept the wind with keener shriek, The tossing waters higher rolled, Still fiercer flashed the lightning's streak, Still gloomier frowned the tempest's fold. Ah, such, ah, such is life, I sighed, Earth's future track an Eden seems Brighter than e'en our brightest dreams. Again, the tempest rushes o'er, Sweet sylvan lake! beside thee now, Villages point their spires to heaven, Rich meadows wave, broad grainfields bow, The axe resounds, the plough is driven: Down verdant points come herds to drink, Flocks strew, like spots of snow, thy brink: |