Deem'st thou these snows scarce fitting bower For aught so fair as I? Oh, know that One whose will is power Has shaped my destiny; He spake me into being-shed His sunshine on my Alpine bed; Bade the strong blast which shook the pine Pass harmless o'er this head of mine, And gently rear'd my early bloom 'Mid snows which else had been my tomb. View in this mountain's frozen breast An emblem true of thine, So cold, so hard, till on it rest A beam of light divine! Feel'st thou this life-inspiring ray? If not then upward look and pray, That He who made these mountain snows A cradle for the opening rose, Would deep within thine heart embower A brighter far than earthly flower! (Original.) THE PARTED SISTERS. FRANCES BROWN. “WE stand beneath the laden vine, For round the old home portals twine And safe beneath their kindred shade, "Hark! how their clear light laughter rings With tones long pass'd from ours !— A voice of unforgotten springs, With all their gather'd flowers, Back, back upon my soul it brings Like sunbursts seen through showers; And one looks on them with the gaze Of our lost father's happier days. "But memories from thy glance are shed The loved ones that replace the dead, The home, the household gems are mine— Long-parted sister! where are thine ? " The wanderer brighten'd where she leant Against that rose-clad wall: 66 My children are the pages sent Through cottage, bower, and hall; I hear their voices, still unspent By time and distance, fall Upon mine ear, with many a tone From hearts that love them like mine own. "Oh! pleasant on mine ear at first Those far-sent echoes stole, And glorious were the hopes that nurst It may be that the stream which burst So brightly, sought its goal Through many shades, but none profound As those that human love hath found. 66 They will not meet mine after days They will not come from life's highways, Upon them, but the bloom that caught "They will not fill my prayers like those, The parted, whose long loss Hath gulfs that love can never close, And only memory cross; Between their steps and mine there grows No desert, where the dross Of time, or pride, or wrath may build Their barriers o'er affections chill'd. "The flowers of many a far dream bloom, The turtle hath its mate, Still in the shadow of my home, But all alone and late O'er parting waves and years come, Yet come not desolate; But rich in many a wreath and ray "And yet I see the home-fire burn How will this household scene return Of some once-trodden ocean bourne, The mariner no more May reach, still rises on his dreams, With all its glorious trees and streams! "There might have been unsounded depths Of love, perchance of tears, Found in this voiceless heart that sleeps Beneath the ice of years; But darkly rise the pathless steeps Life's wayward fortune rears, From hope, but not from sight to part The unreach'd havens of the heart. "Sister! I bless thy home of love, Thy children's gladdening cheer, The hearth that shines so clear; "The songs my spirit pour'd may flow From young lips in its light, The groves that gave their themes may grow Green in my kindred's sight; But never may the minstrel know A hearth and home made bright By the pure lights of love that shine Beneath this lowly roof of thine." |