When Murder sent her hopeless cries,
More dreadful through the gloom,
And kindling flames did round thee rise,
Deep harvests to consume.

Who was it led thee through the wood,
And o'er the ensanguined plain,
Unseen by ambushed sons of blood,
Who track'd thy steps in vain.

"Twas pitying Heaven that check'd my tears, And bade my infants play,

To give an opiate to my fears
And cheer the lonely way.
And in the doubly dreadful night,
When my Abella died,

When horror-struck-detesting light,
I sunk down by her side;

When winged for flight my spirit stood,
With this fond thought beguiled,

To lead my charmer to her God,
And there to claim my child.
Again his mercy o'er my breast
Effus'd the breath of peace,
Subsiding passion sunk to rest,
He bade the tempest cease.

Oh, let me ever, ever praise
Such undeserved care,

Though languid may appear my lays,

At least they are sincere.

It is my joy that thou art God,

Eternal and supreme;

Rise, Nature-hail the power aloud,

From whom Creation came.

BALLAD.

BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY.

"La rose cueillie et le cœur gagné ne plaisent qu'un jour."

THE maiden sat at her busy wheel,
Her heart was light and free,
And ever in cheerful song broke forth
Her bosom's harmless glee.
Her song was in mockery of love,
And oft I heard her say,

"The gathered rose, and the stolen heart, "Can charm but for a day."

I looked on the maiden's rosy cheek,
And her lip so full and bright,

And I sighed to think that the traitor love,
Should conquer a heart so light:

But she thought not of future days of wo, While she carroled in tones so gay; "The gathered rose, and the stolen heart, "Can charm but for a day."

A year passed on, and again I stood
By the humble cottage-door ;
The maid sat at her busy wheel,

But her look was blithe no more:
The big tear stood in her downcast eye,
And with sighs I heard her say,

"The gathered rose, and the stolen heart, "Can charm but for a day."

Oh! well I knew what had dimmed her eye, And made her cheek so pale;

The maid had forgotten her early song,

While she listened to love's soft tale.

She had tasted the sweets of his poisoned cup, It had wasted her life away:

And the stolen heart, like the gathered rose, Had charmed but for a day.

FORGETFULNESS.

BY MISS ELIZABETH S. BOGART.

WE parted-friendship's dream had cast
Deep interest o'er the brief farewell,
And left upon the shadowy past

Full many a thought on which to dwell.
Such thoughts as come in early youth,
And live in fellowship with hope;
Robed in the brilliant hues of truth,
Unfitted with the world to cope.

We parted-he went o'er the sea,
And deeper solitude was mine;
Yet there remained in memory,
For feeling, still a sacred shrine.
And thought and hope were offered up
Till their ethereal essence fled,
And disappointment, from the cup,
Its dark libations poured, instead.

FORGETFULNESS.

We parted-'twas an idle dream

That thus we e'er should meet again ;
For who that knew man's heart, would deem
That it could long unchanged remain.
He sought a foreign clime, and learned

Another language, which expressed
To strangers the rich thoughts that burned
With unquenched power within his breast.

And soon he better loved to speak

In those new accents than his own; His native tongue seemed cold and weak, To breathe the wakened passions' tone. He wandered far, and lingered long,

And drank so deep of Lethe's stream, That each new feeling grew more strong, And all the past was like a dream.

We met a few glad words were spoken,
A few kind glances were exchanged;
But friendship's first romance was broken,
His had been from me estranged.

I felt it all-we met no more—

My heart was true, but it was proud; Life's early confidence was o'er,

And hope had set beneath a cloud.

We met no more-for neither sought
To reunite the severed chain
Of social intercourse; for nought
Could join its parted links again.
Too much of the wide world had been
Between us for too long a time;
And he had looked on many a scene,
The beautiful and the sublime.

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And he had themes on which to dwell,
And memories that were not mine,
Which formed a separating spell,

And drew a mystic boundary line.
His thoughts were wanderers-and the things
Which brought back friendship's joys to me,
To him were but the spirit's wings
Which bore him o'er the distant sea.

For he had seen the evening star
Glancing its rays o'er ocean's waves,
And marked the moonbeams from afar,
Lighting the Grecian heroes' graves.
And he had gazed on trees and flowers
Beneath Italia's sunny skies,

And listened, in fair ladies' bowers,

To genius' words, and beauty's sighs.

His steps had echoed through the halls
Of grandeur, long left desolate ;
And he had climbed the crumbling walls,

Or op'd perforce the hingeless gate;
And mused o'er many an ancient pile,
In ruin still magnificent,

Whose histories could the hours beguile
With dreams, before to fancy lent.

Such recollections come to him,

With moon, and stars, and summer flowers; To me they bring the shadows dim

Of earlier and of happier hours.

I would those shadows darker fell--
For life, with its best powers to bless,
Has but few memories loved as well,

Or welcome as forgetfulness.