The boy gazed upward into space, Ere the last odorous sigh of May Mother, thy fond, foreboding heart And own'd his loss thy gain. THE PICTURE OF T. C. IN A PROSPECT OF FLOWERS. By old ANDREW MARVELL, quaint, but highly fanciful. SEE with what sweet simplicity And them does tell What colour best becomes them, and what smell. * Meantime, whilst every verdant thing But most procure That violets may a longer age endure. But, O young beauty of the woods, To kill the infants in their prime, Should quickly make the example yours, Nip, in the blossom, all our hopes in thee. THE OLD ELM. A pretty poem, by an American author called by the very unpoetical name of McJILTON, will please. THOU standest on the forest-edge, proud monarch of the wood, Thy sturdy form the goings forth of many a storm hath stood; Age doth not seem to weaken thee; thy greenness doth not fail; In years to come thy hoary head shall bow before the gale. Thou art a faithful sentinel, and time hath fix'd thee there, To mark the flight of blighting years as ever on they wear; And thou the winter's sweeping blast, thy leaves the young spring rain, The flowering summer hath renew'd thy emerald robes again. Like a true friend, old favoured Elm, thy form to me appears: Strange visions of wild fantasy come up from other years; And shades of dark mysterious gloom are o'er my senses cast, While musing on the varied scenes that crowd the fertile past. How many young and happy hearts have thrill'd in wild delight, Anticipating richer bliss in manhood's glorious might; Trusting the world's bright promises-more bright, alas! than true, Beneath the deep and ample shade thy towering branches threw ! And many forms of fairest mould, and cheeks of youthful bloom, Have passed to manhood, and to age, and to the dreary tomb, While thou wert waving in thy pride-a prince among the trees, With all thy glowing pinions spread in beauty on the breeze. Oft hast thou seen the flaxen locks on childhood's brow of snow, Uplifted by the slightest breeze, in graceful ringlets flow: Hast seen them thicken and assume a darker, sterner hue, Until the hand of age at length the silver o'er them threw. And thou hast mark'd the ruddy cheek, and forehead bright and fair, Before time's iron hand had writ on them a line of care; The cheek before thy sight has blanch'd, the forehead furrow'd o'er, And both were placed beneath the sod, to bloom and blanch no more. My grandsire, when a thoughtless boy, beneath thy boughs has laid; My father's form of infancy was cradled in thy shade; And thou hast seen life's changing flood full often o'er them sweep; Now shelter'd from the winter's storms, and watch'd by thee, they sleep. And I—the wayward youth, the man-have wander'd near thy side; Matured in strength, before thee now I stand in manhood's pride; Beside the dead a narrow place untenanted I see; Soon with my fathers I may rest,—that place is left for me Ere long the greensward at thy base will show another grave And over me as green as now will thy long branches wave; And other feet shall wander here and other hearts be gay, When I, like my ancestral race, from earth have pass'd away. And summer suns will roll on high as brilliantly as e'er, THE INDIAN GIRL'S LAMENT. Several of the productions of BRYANT, the prince of the American poets, have already graced these selections. They are distinguished for refined elegance rather than for power; they are beautiful, not grand. A sweet strain, most musical, most melancholy. An Indian girl was sitting where "I've pull'd away the shrubs that grew That, shining from the sweet south-west, "It was a weary, weary road That led thee to the pleasant coast, "'Twas I the broider'd moc'sin made, "With wampum belts I cross'd thy breast, And deck'd thee bravely, as became "Thou r't happy now, for thou hast pass'd Hast joined the good and brave- "Yet oft thine own dear Indian maid, Even there, thy thoughts will earthward stray- Yet almost can her grief forget "And thou, by one of those still lakes, On which the south wind scarcely breaks A bower for thee and me hast made "And thou dost wait to watch and meet |