صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

If any joys be mine through life,

Oh, let them strew thy way!

Thou art my sun-when thou art bright,

I live but in thy ray;

But if a shadow o'er thee fall,

Life's sunbeams fade and part;

Oh! pity my light is gone

"Tis midnight in my heart,
My sister love

My very soul is wrapt in thine,
In many a bright fold laid;
Our hopes together bud and bloom-
Part them, and mine will fade.
Still near thee let me struggle on,
Still near thee smile and weep;
And e'er thy lamp of life be quenched,
Still near thee let me sleep,

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]
[blocks in formation]

BY J. R. BARRICK.

IN a low and ceaseless murmur,
Gently flows the forest stream-
Day and night to nature chanting
Music sweet as song and dream-
In the mirrored sky revealing

All the beauty of its gleam.

With a song of joy and gladness,
Merrily the minstrel sings,

And each passing breeze and zephyr
Wafts its carol on its wings,
Till the air around, above it,

Swells with magic murmurings.
Bubbling upward like a fountain,
Born of melody and song;
Like a transient gleam of beauty,
Flows the silver stream along,
Hymning anthems unto nature,
She to whom its hymns belong.
Hastening onward, onward ever,

Like the life that flows in me-
As a wave upon the river
Hastening to the distant sea-
As a hope the hidden future
Searching for the things to be.
Summer storms may o'er it gather;
Winds of autumn round it wail;
Winter, too, its bosom ruffle

With his icy sleet and hail;
But with summer, autumn, winter,
Doth its steady flow prevail.

Thus life's fountain to the rivet
In a winding current flows-
And the river to the ocean

In a channel deeper grows,
Till the fountain, river, ocean,
In eternity repose.

F. A. J.

THE FLOWERS OF SPRING.

BY HORACE W. SMITH.

WE have seen them by the forest shade,
And by the sunlit streams;

In childhood's walks, in manhood's years,
They are mingled in our dreams:
And oft they win our memory back

To some forgotten thing,

To seek the joy our childhood found
Among the flowers of spring.

But ah! they win us back in vain;

No after spring renews

That gift of vanquished sunshine which
Our souls so early lose:

The sunlit stream may murmur on,
The birds may gayly sing,

But friends we loved have passed away
Among the flowers of spring.

Yet fair and fragrant to the day

Each bright-eyed flow'ret opes; They are not withered like our hearts, Nor blighted like our hopes; And then each golden dream of youth Its long-lost light will bringAnd all is bright, and all is hope, Among the flowers of spring. Huntingdon, March, 1852.

I THINK ON THEE.

I THINK on thee when early morn is breaking,
For thou art as the day-star to mine eye;
Thou art my first sweet thought upon awaking
From dreams wherein thine image passeth by.

I think on thee whene'er the bright sun bringeth
Day's busy hours and toil's unceasing strife;
Then, like a bird, to thee my spirit wingeth-
For thou art as the sunshine to my life.

I think on thee when twilight dews are stealing,
When the dim stars scarce light the softened air;
Then, then my shadowy thoughts thy form revealing-
Like those dim stars, thou hadst been hidden there.

I think on thee when silent midnight seemeth
As if it moved not on time's noiseless way;
Till, worn with thought, my busy fancy dreameth
That thou art smiling at my uncouth lay.

I think on thee, for ever, ever praying
That but one glance of thine may beam on me;
My truant thoughts are ever to thee straying-
Dost thou not feel that I but live in thee?

THINK OF ME.

BY "JAMIE."

WHEN pleasure's cup is sparkling high, When friends around thee throng; When hearts are light with playful mirth, And lighter wakes the song;

When, counting o'er thy many joys,

Recalled by memory,

If 'twill not dim thy pleasure then,
Oh! give one thought to me.

At dawn, when first Aurora's light
Reflects o'er hill and dale,

And gilds the dew-washed lily's head
That slept within the vale;

When first the lark shall plume his wing,
And soar from bondage free,

To warble forth his merry notes-
Then give one thought to me.

And when the shades of evening are
Fast fading into night-

An hour that well seems made for thought,
And quiet is delight;

At midnight's deep and solemn hour,
When on thy bended knee,

Thy hands upraised to Heaven in prayer,
Oh then, then think of me!

If I could claim the richest gem
That now lies in the sea,

I'd rather far, than have that pearl,
Have one kind thought from thee:
If all the joys of this bright world
Were now spread out to me,
And I were told to make a choice-
I'd ask one thought from thee.

THE OLD CHURCHYARD.

BY BEATA.

I'VE won thee, won thee, gentle bride;
I've loved thee long, hope of my life-

And now I place thee at my side,
My dearer self, my darling wife.
Most beautiful to me thou art,

And to all others passing fair;
Then press thee closely to my heart,

Dearest of all things treasured there.

Remember, love, where first we met;
The churchyard with bright flowers o'erspread;
The church itself in emerald set,

A watcher o'er its buried dead.
The firs around, the grass beneath,
Shed faint perfume, a heavenly balm;

I almost feared to draw my breath

Lest I should break the soul-felt calm.

And thou! oh thou, so lovely beamed,

A very pearl in purity,

The spirit of the place I deemed

And could almost have worshipped thee!
That gray old church of bygone times
We gazed upon together then-
In silence gazed; no holy chimes
Called us to meet our fellow-men.

We entered-and thy sweet young face
All glorious looked in chastened joy;
We knelt in thine accustomed place-
Thou didst alone my thoughts employ.
Thou wert beside me, and I heard
Thy soft voice murmuring clear and low,
Responsive to the Holy Word,

Or in the chant melodious flow.

And ever from that tranquil hour

When life's blest fulness first was mine, Thine image, love, alone had power To charm me in my manhood's prime.

We parted then-a fresh bud thou

Expanding in thine early spring;
And I a youth, with purposed vow,
Time to my home should Eva bring.
I won thee there-and when at last

We reach our lives' appointed bourn,
And have Death's silent confines past,
Our dust shall there to dust return.
And should I first the dark vale tread,
Thy faithful love shall me enfold;
Or I will pillow thy dear head

Where first we met-that churchyard old.

Eva, beloved! why weepest thou!

Yes, precious one, 'twere hard to part;

Rest on my bosom thy fair brow,

And press thee closely to my heart.

[blocks in formation]

But lately, thy heart was absorbed in the fight,
But lately, its trophies were viewed with delight, '
And the might of thy arm, and thy courage, could vie
With the strongest and bravest who now pass thee by.

Their serried ranks move; but the noise of their tread
Meets thy ear as it falls on the ear of the dead:
'Tis strange that a summons, once needless, should now
Wake no fire in thy eye, and no light on thy brow!

Can it be that, before half life's battle is done,

Ere the contest is past and the victory won,
Thy spirit has shrunk from the strife raging there,
And been blighted, consumed by the touch of Despair?

Can it be that the ardor which once led thee on,
In the van of great hosts, towards the prize to be won,
Has chilled and grown weak at the threats of the foe?
Has thy arm become nerveless ere striking a blow?

Awake from thy stupor! Arouse thee again!
Take thy part in the strife-be a man amongst men!
Let thy soul shame the impulse that prompted thy fear,
In the hour of trial, when danger was near.

Wouldst thou list to the foeman exultingly cry,

That his threats blanched thy cheek, his words forced thee to fly?

Wouldst thou see thy friends mourning, in sorrow and shame,

O'er the wreck of thy glory, the brand on thy name?
Thou canst not-thou dar'st not! Then up to the field!
Keep thy post in the ranks till the foeman shall yield!
Let no timid doubts shake thee, no terrors dismay-
Stand firm for the truth, and thy valor display!

Be strong in the right! 'Tis a panoply sure,
An ægis to guard thee and keep thee secure:
Wear it ever; and then, 'mid the thickest of strife,
Do thy part, as thou shouldst, in the Battle of Life!

[blocks in formation]

BEAUTIFUL Visions, that before me swim,

In softest light, whene'er mine eyes I close,

Ye are too fair to be the phantoms dim

That haunt the couch of opium-bought repose! The angel Morphia hath a shadowy train,

But no such forms as yours adorn her pale domain.

Are ye some mirage from th' Eternal shore?
A soft reflection on the dreamlike mist
That o'er the sea of Death floats evermore?

A she whose willowy marge my foot hath kissed:
As in the Moslem's faith the hour waits,
And beckons, with white hands, to the Celestial gates?
Ah no! your beauty is of earth; it takes

Such forms as float before the artist's eye,
When, 'neath his touch, the glowing canvas wakes
To that strange life that ne'er again shall die;
Or as the chiselled marble bears, when wrought
To image to mankind the sculptor's lofty thought.

Oh, how much fairer than the shapes we see,

Are those with which a glowing fancy teems! Too perfect to be true! And such were ye; For ye were beautiful, and ye are dreams! And thus our nature still transcends our fate, Like high-born foundlings left at some poor peasant's gate. And ye have passed away, and left no trace, As roses leave the velvet cheeks of youth; And yet I fancy that each form of grace

But shadows forth some unrecorded worth; And on the heart's red leaves, in traces dim, Shall Poesy for you inscribe one grateful hymn.

[ocr errors][merged small]

BY JOHN W. BEAZEL.

THERE's music in the sunbeam,
There's music in the shower,
There's music in each rippling stream,
Each leaf, and tree, and flower.

There's music in the moonlit sea,

Where the proud bark cleaves the billow; And o'er thy grave, sweet Ella Lee, "Tis sighing through the willow.

There's music in the mountain height,
And 'neath the dark pine shade,
Where silver streams are flashing bright,
And wild flowers paint the glade.

There's music in the joyous spring,

Where young flow'rs gem the sod; And through each bright and lovely thing It whispers, "There's a God!"

There was music once whose gentlest thrill Was dearer far to me

Than leaf, or flower, or flashing rill,

Or starlight on the sea.

Its lute-like tones how oft they come
With gentle thoughts of thee!

But ah! they're hushed within the tomb,

Where sleeps my Ella Leo.

Uniontown, Pa.

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

AN EMBROIDERED VEST
AND CAPS.

EMBROIDERED VEST.

THE materials are blue satin and embroidery silk. The pattern should be drawn with a white crayon. Then proceed to do the outline of the design, the stems and the tendrils in chain stitch. The leaves and the flowers in the usual embroidery stitch. It is made up in the ordinary way, the front fastened by a row of gold buttons set with turquoise. The same pattern may be worked either on lace or muslin. If lace, work in tambour and chain stitch; give the collar and front a narrow thread edge, and line it with silk of some delicate hue. Studs may be substituted for buttons. Vests of cambric muslin, to be worn with lawns or light summer silks, will be very much the style the present and ensuing month. For description of embroidered muslin manilla, see "Chitchat."

[graphic][graphic][ocr errors]

CAPS.

WE give two styles of breakfast caps: No. 1 being composed of dotted India muslin, with three corresponding frills. It will be noticed that the muslin of the crown is shirred between corresponding bands of insertion. To be finished with bow and strings of muslin, or ribbon, to the taste of the wearer.

No. 2 is of net, lined with a delicate shade of Florence silk. The trimming is a row of silk and net, with three of fringe, formed by loops of extremely narrow ribbon. Broad ribbon strings of corresponding shade.

90

PATTERNS FOR SILK EMBROIDERY.

THIS pattern forms an elegant border for a merino or cloth cloak, by working the curved line with cord and the rose-buds with silk.

[blocks in formation]

Eighth row.-Purled, till within eight from the end, turn back.

Ninth row.-Knit plain till within eight from the end, turn back.

Tenth row.-Purled to the end.

Eleventh row.-Knit plain to the end, and begin again as at second row; but the tenth row is to be purled till within ten from the end; eleventh row knitted till within ten from the end; twelfth row purled to the end; thirteenth row knitted plain to the end. Then begin again as at second row. After fourteen stripes, ending alternately one at the elevonth, the other at the thirteenth row. Cast off all the stitches; sew the two edges together; gather the stitches of the smaller aperture, fasten them tight round the stalk of a common clove, and fill up with bran, as full as possible, this white shape of an apple; when it is nearly full, fold a bit of wire in ten or twelve; cover it with brownish floss or half twist silk to make the stalk of the apple; gather the stitches of the second aperture, fill up with bran, as much as you can, and fasten off tight to the stalk. Then knit another apple in wool or silk of the color of the apple which you have chosen for model, and exactly in the same manner as the white one, but beginning with thirty-eight or forty stitches, and making one stripe more, or two plain rows between each stripe. Cover neatly with this the white shape, allowing the clove to show its head only. Make a little depression round the stalk of the apple by passing through the fruit three or four times, with a long darningneedle, the silk with which you have fastened the last aperture, and draw it tight. A leaf may be added, but is not necessary.

The orange is worked in the same manner, except that there are no purled rows, no clove put in, and no stalk.

« السابقةمتابعة »