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Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of the branches.
Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers nearer approaching,
Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotious,
lint when the service was done, and the benedietion hnd fallen
Forth from the hands of the priest, like seeds from the hands of the sower,
Slowly the reverend nmn advanced to the strangers, and bade them
Welcome; and when they replied he smiled with beniguant expression.
Hearing the home-like sounds of his mother-tongue in the forest.
And with words of kinduess condueted them into his wigwam.
There upon mats and skius they reposed, and on cakes of the maize ear
Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gonrd of the teacher.
Soon was their story told; and the priest with soleumity auswered:—
"Not six suus have risen acd set since Galiriel, seated
On this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes,
Told me this same sad tale; then arose and continned his jonrney!"
Soft was the voice of the priest and he spake with an aecent of kinduess;
Bnt on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter the suow-flakes
Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have departed.
"Far to the north he has gone," continned the priest: bnt in antumn,
When the chase is done, will return again to the Mission."'
Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and submissive,—
"Let me remain with thee, for my sonl is sad and afflieted."
So seemed it wise and well unto all; and betimes on the morrow,
Monnting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guide and companious,
Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed at the Mission.
Slowly, slowly, slowly, the days sncceeded each other.—
So came the antuum, and passed, and the winter,—yet Gabriel c:!mc not;
Thus did the long sad vears glide on, and in seasous and places
In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware's waters,
Saw at his side ouly one of all his hundred descendants.
Something at least there was in the friendly streets of the city.
Something that spoke to her heart, and made her no loafer a .stranger;
And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thon of the yuakers,
F"or it recalled the past, the old Acadian coimtry, •
Where all men were equal, and all wore brothers and slaters.
So, when the fruitless seareh, the disappointed endeavonr,
Ended, to recommence no mure upon earth, uncomplaining,
Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her thonghts and her footsteps.
As from a monntain's top the ruUiy mists of the morning
Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below u\
Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities und hamlets,
So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the work) 'ar below her,
Dark no longer, bnt all illumined with love; aud the pathway
Which she had climbed so far. lying smooth and fair lb the distance.
Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his image.
Clothed in the beanty ot love and yonth, at last -he behelq him.
Ouly more beantiful made by his deathiike silence and absence.
Into her thonghts of him, time entered not, for it wa. s not.
Over him years had no power; he was not changed hnt tran-.iigured;
He had become to her heart as one who Is dead, and not absent;
Patience and abuegation of self, and devotion to othera,
This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her.
So was her love diffused, bnt, like to some odorons spices.
Suffered no waste nor loss, thongh tilling the air with aroma.
Other hope had she none, nor wish in life bnt to follow
Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of onr Savionr.
Thus mauy years she lived as a Sister of Merey; freqnenting
Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of tin.- city.
Where distress and want concealed themselves from the sunlight,
Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished negleeted.
Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the watchman repeated
Lond, throngh the gusty streets, all that was well in the city,
High at some lonely window he saw the light of her tai*r.
Day after day, in the grey of the dawn, as slow throngh the suburbs
Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for the market.
Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from the watchings.
Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city. Presaged by wondrons sigus, und mostly by flocks of wild pigeous, Darkening the sun in their ilight, with naught in their claws bnt uu acoru. And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of September, Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in the meadow, Ho death flooded life. and, o'erflowing its natural margin, Spread to a brakish hike the silver stream of existence, wealth had no power to bribe, nor beanty to charm, the oppressur; Bnt all perished alike beneath the scourge of his anger;— Oniy, alas I the poor, who had neither friends nor attendants, Crept away to die In the aimshonse, home for the homeless. Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows and woodlands;— Now the city surronnds it; bnt still with its gateway and wicket Meek, in the midst of splendonr, its hmuble wall seem to Mho Softly the words of the Lord:—"The poor ye always have with yon." Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of Merey. The dying Looked up into her face, and thonght. indeed, to behold there Gleams of celestial light encireled her forehead with splendour, Snch as the artiste paints o'er the brows of saints and apostles, Or snch as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distantc Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial, Into whose shining gates ere long their spirits wonld enter.
Thus, on a Sabbath morn, throngh the streets, deserted and silent. Wending her quiet way. she entered the door of the aimshonse. Sweet on the summer air was the odonr of flowers in the garden; And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them. That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beanty. Then, as she monnted the stairs to the corridors, cooled by the cast wind. Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the belfry of Christ Chureh, While, intermingled with these, across the meadows were wafted Sonnds of psaims, that were sung by the Swedes in their chureh at Wlcaco Soft as descending wings fell the caim of the honr on her spirit; Something within her said,—"At length thy trials are ended;" And. with light in her looks, she entered the chamber of sickness. Noiselessly moved abont the assiduons, careful attendants, Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and in silence Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing their faces. Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of suow by the roadside. Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered. Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for her presenco Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison. And, as she looked aronnd, she saw how Death, the cousoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed lt for ever. Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night time; Vacant their places were, or filled aiready by strangers,
STlLL stands the forest primeval; bnt far away from its shadow,
Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping,
llnd"i the immble wnll of the Uttle l'ntholic cimrehyard,
ln :he lnn ri of the city, they lie, nnknown and nunoticed.
ltnlly the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them,
Thonsands nf ihrohbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and for ever,
Thonsands of aching braius, where theirs no longer are bnsy,
Tinm'Hind. , of toiling bnnds, where thoirshave ceased from their labonrs,
Tin Hi'in mis of weary feet, where theirs have completed their lonrney l
SUM Minnds lln. forest primeval; bnt nnder the shade of its branches
THE VILLifcE BLACKSMITH.
Undee a spreading chestnnt-tree
The Tillage smithy stands:
With large and sinewy hands;
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
He earus whate'er he can.
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week ont, from morn till night, Yon can hear his bellows blow,
Yon can hear him swing his heavy sledge.
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
And hear the bellows roar,
Like chaff from a threshing floor.
He goes on Sunday to the chureh,
And sits among his boys;
He hears his daughter s voice *
Singing in the village choir.
And it makes his heart rejoice: —
It sonnds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
How in the grave she lies;
A tear ont of his eyes.
Onward throngh life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees its close; Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend
Tims at the flaming forge of life
Thus on its sonnding anvil shaped
The rising moon has hid the stars;
Her level rays, like golden bars,
And sliver white the river gleams,
As if Diana, in her dreams,
Had dropt her silver bow
On snch a tranquil night as this.
Like DIan'skiss, unasked, uusonght,
It comes,—the beantiful, the free,
In silence and alone
To seek the eleeted one.
It lifts the bonghs, whose shadows deep
O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes!
Are fraught with fear and pain,
Ye shall be loved again!
No one is so aecursed by fate,
Bnt some heart, thongh unknown,
Responds unto his own ;—
Responds,—as if with uuseen wings
THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR.
FROM THE GERMAN OF PFIZEB.
A Youth, light-hearted and content,
I wander throngh the world; Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent,
And straight again is furled.
Yet oft I dream, that once a wife
Close in my heart was locked,
A blessed child I rocked.
Too long did it remain!
It ever comes again.
The end lies ever in my thonght;
To a grave so cold and deep
Then dropt the child asleep.
Bnt now the dream is wholly o'er
I bathe mine eyes and see; And wander throngh the world once more,
A yonth so light and free.
Two locks,—and they are wondrons fair,—
Left me that vision mild;
The blond is from the child.
And when I see that lock of gold,
Pale grows the eveulng-red; And when the dark lock I behold,
I wish that I were dead.
IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY. NO HAT PAJAROS EN LOS NIDOS DB ANTANO.
The sun is bright,—the air is clear,
The darting swallows soar and sing, And from the stately eims I hear
The blne-bird prophesying Spring. So bine yon winding river flows.
It seems an ontlet from the sky, Where waiting till the west wind blows,
The freighted clonds at anchor lie.
All things are new;—the bnds, the leaves,
And even the nest beneath the eaves ;—
All things rejoice in yonth and love,
And learn from the soft heaveus above
Maiden that read'st this simple rhyme,
Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,
Enjoy the Spring of Love and Yonth,
For Time will teach thee soon the trnth,
THE RAINY DAY.
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Some days umst be dark and dreary.
I Liee that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
It cousecrates each grave within its walls,
God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts
The seed, that they had garnered in their
Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
At the great harvest, when the arehangel's
Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom,
And each bright blossom mingle lts perfume With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth.
With thy rnde plonghshare, Death, turn up the sod, And spread the furrow for the seed we sow; This is the field and Acre of onr God, This is the place, where human harvests. grow!
TO THE RIVER CHARLES.
Rivee! that in silence windest
Till at length thy rest thon findest
Fonr long rears of mingled feeling,
I have seen thy waters stealing
Tlion hast taught me, Silent River!
Many a lesson, deep and long; Thon liast been a generons giver:
I can give thee bnt a song.
Oft in saduess and in iliness,
Till the beanty of iu stiliness
And in better honrs and brighter,
I have felt my heart beaf lighter.
Not for this alone I love thee.
From celestial seas above thee
Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee,
And thy waters disappear,
And have made thy margin dear.
More than this;—thy name reminds mo
And that name, like magie, binds mc
Friends my sonl with joy remembers!
How like quivering flames they start, When I fan the living embers
On the hearth-stone of my heart!
'Tis for this, thon Silent River!
That my spirit leaus to thee; Thon hast been a generons giver,
Take this idle song from me.
Blind Bartimeus at the gates
Of Jericho in darkness waits;
He hears the crowd:—he hears a breath
Sav '♦It is Christ of Nazareth!"
And calls, in tones of agony,
leson, elecson me.
The thronging umltitndes increase;
Then saith the Christ, as silent stands
Ye that have eyes, yet enunot see,
THE GOBLET OF LIFE.
Filled is Life's goblet to the brim:
No purplc flowers,—no garlands green,
This goblet, wronght with curions art,