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And not a human step impress'd the sand beach but our own; The footsteps all have vanish'd from the billow beaten strandThe vows we breathed remain with us—they were not traced
in sand. Far, far, we left the sea-girt shore, endear'd by childhood's
dream, To seek the humble cot, that smiled by fair Ohio's stream. In vain the mountain cliff opposed, the mountain torrent roard, For love unfurld her silken wing, and o'er each barrier soar’d; And many a wide domain we passed, and many an ample dome, But none so bless'd, so dear to us, as wedded love's first home. Beyond these mountains, now are all, that e'er we loved or knew, The long remembered many, and the dearly cherished few; The home of her we value, and the grave of him we mourn, Are there;
and there is all the part to which the heart can turn; But dearer scenes surround us here, and lovelier joys we trace, For here is wedded love's first home—its hallowed resting place.
A. M. WELLS.
MRS WELLS is the wife of Thomas Wells, of Boston, noticed in the second volume. She writes with sweetness and simplicity.
THERE sits a woman on the brow
Of yonder rocky height;
She sits from morn till night.
She heeds not how the mad waves leap
Along the rugged shore;
She never may see more.
As morning twilight faintly gleams,
Her shadowy form I trace;
The Genius of the place !
Far other once was Rosalie;
Her smile was glad; her voice,
Said to the heart-rejoice.
O'er her pure thoughts did sorrow fling
Perchance a shade, 't would pass,
Along the bending grass.
A sailor's bride 't was hers to be :
Wo to the faithless main!
And ne'er returned again.
But long, where all is wrecked beside,
And every joy is chased,
Amid the dreary waste!
Nine years—though all have given him o'er,
Her spirit doth not fail ;
The never coming sail.
On that high rock, abrupt and bare,
Ever she sits, as now;
The sun has scorched her brow.
And every far-off sail she sees,
And every passing cloud,
She calls to it aloud.
The sea-bird answers to her cry;
The cloud, the sail float on.
Yet is her hope not gone :
It cannot go :—with that to part,
So long, so fondly nursed,
When falling dews the clover steep,
are in their nest,
And ploughmen gone to rest,
Down the rude track her feet have worn,
-There scarce the goat may go ;-
Is seen descending slow.
But when the gray morn tints the sky,
And lights that lofty peak,-
A fever in her cheek,
Again she goes, untired, to sit
And watch, the live-long day ;
E'er turns her steps away.
Hidden, and deep, and never dry,
Or flowing, or at rest,
In every human breast.
All else may fail, that soothes the heart,
All, save that fount alone;
For life and hope are one.
THE TAMED EAGLE.
He sat upon his humble perch, nor flew
At my approach;
But as I nearer drew,
And sadness too :
And something still his native pride proclaim'd,
Despite his wo;
Which, when I'marked,-ashamed To see a noble creature brought so low,
My heart exclaim'd,
Where is the fire that lit thy fearless eye,
Child of the storm,
When from thy home on high,
Cleaving the sky ?
It grieveth me to see thy spirit tamed;
Gone out the light
That in thine eye-ball flamed,
Was proudly aimed!
Like the young dove forsaken, is the look
Of thy sad eye,
Who in some lonely nook,
Beside the brook.
While somewhat sterner in thy downward gaze
Doth seem to lower,
And deep disdain betrays,
And scorned his praise.
Oh, let not me insult thy fallen dignity,
Poor injured bird,
Gazing with vulgar eye
To hear thy cry;
And answereth to thee, as I turn to go,
It is a stain
On man !-Thus, even thus low
Work thee such wo!
R. H. WILDE,
Or Georgia. We are not acquainted with the writer, except by a few articles in verse, which have appeared in the newspapers.
6'Tis many moons ago
a long-long time Since first upon this shore a white man trod; From the great water to the mountain clime This was our home ;-'t was given us by the God That gave ye yours.—Love ye your native sod ? So did our fathers too—for they were men! They fought to guard it, for their hearts were brave, And long they fought—we were a people then; This was our country—it is now our graveWould I had never lived, or died the land to save.
When first ye came, your numbers were but few,
He loved us too, and taught us many things,
“ My life is like the summer rose