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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,
From out whose sheltering leaves
The same broad gleams of hearthlight shine
That shone on childhood's eves;

For round the old home portals twine
The tendrils summer weaves,

And safe beneath their kindred shade,
My children play as once we play'd.

"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
To those bright years unknown;
How have our parted summers sped ?—
Around my steps have grown

The loved ones that replace the dead,
But thou hast come alone:

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
The children of my soul !

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.

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They will not meet mine after days
With souls grown far apart;

They will not come from life's highways,
The worn, the changed of heart;
I will not find one withering trace
Of Time's destroying art

Upon them, but the bloom that caught
Its freshness from my morn of thought.

"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
Won from bright summits far away.

"And yet I see the home-fire burn
Ev'n as it burn'd of yore;

How will this household scene return
Upon me, as the shore

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 vine that bends so rich above,

The hearth that shines so clear;
To its lost light will memory rove
Far backward many a year,
And find the same bright faces met,
And roses round the portals yet.

"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."

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