184

THE DYING SENECA

Be still my worshipped Being,

In mind and heart, in mind and heart.

And bid thy song that found me

My minstrel maid, my minstrel maid!

Be winter's sunbeam round me,

And summer's shade, and summer's shade.

I could not gaze upon thee,

And dare thy spell, and dare thy spell,

And, when a happier won thee,

Thus bid farewell, thus bid farewell.

wwwwww

THE DYING SENECA.

He died not as the martyr dies,

Wrapped in his living shroud of flame;

He fell not as the warrior falls,
Gasping upon the field of fame ;
A gentler passage to the grave
The murderer's softened fury gave.

Rome's slaughtered sons and blazing piles
Had tracked the purpled demon's path,
And yet another victim lived

To fill the fiery scroll of wrath ;
Could not imperial vengeance spare
His furrowed brow and silver hair?

The field was sown with noble blood,
The harvest reaped in bitter tears,

PAINTING.

g up its crimson flood
long gathering tide of years;

was rent away

s trampled on his clay.

-none pitied-they who knelt

ng by the despot's throne,

dashed the laurelled bust

185

-ned the wreaths themselves had strown;

of triumph echoed wide,

ung reptile writhed and died!

PAINTING.

BY P. M. WETMORE.

to the pencil's magic skill
è owes the power, almost divine,
all back vanished forms at will,
ad bid the grave its prey resign:
ction's eye again may trace
ne lineaments beloved so well;
speaking look, the form of grace,
Il on the living canvass dwell:
there the childless mother pays
er sorrowing soul's idolatry;
re love can find, in after days,
talisman to memory!

s thine, o'er history's storied page,

Men

To shed the halo-light of truth ;
And bid the scenes of by-gone age
Still flourish in immortal youth-
The long forgotten battle-field,

With mailed men to people forth;
In bannered pride, with spear and shield,
To show the mighty ones of earth-
To shadow, from the holy book,
The images of sacred lore;
On Calvary, the dying look

That told life's agony was o'er-
The joyous hearts, and glistening eyes,
When little ones were suffered near-
The lips that bade the dead arise
To dry the widowed mother's tear:
These are the triumphs of the art,
Conceptions of the master-mind;
Time-shrouded forms to being start,
And wondering rapture fills mankind

1 THE FIRST DAY OF THE YEAR.

187

E FIRST DAY OF THE YEAR.

ADDRESSED TO MY DAUGHTERS.

BY MRS. S. J. HALE.

day-it is a trifling theme, nd who would heed a day? evening's gloom, a morning's gleam, Cow soon they pass away! s but a welcome an adieuThe fairest day is gone; a with to-morrow's hopes in view, Ve bid the hours roll on-day like bird in tethering string, th faded eye, and folded wing, Its narrow circle creeps; t like a bird in airy flight, ith wing of power and eye of light, To-morrow heaven-ward sweeps.

ach are the dreams of early youth,
Ere dimmed, by gathering fears;
he halo round the orb of Truth,
Presages clouds and tears-
trust, my loved ones, still ye see
The brightness clear and pure,
nd gloomy thoughts that shadow me
Unmoved I can endure-

The vine, even when its prop is lost,

188

THE FIRST DAY OF THE YEAR.

Its tendrils torn and tempest-tost,
May shield the little flower;
And thus I bide the world's rude strife,
That I may shield your morn of life
From sorrow's blighting power.

'Tis sad, as years grow short, to know
Death only brings relief;

But saddest of all earthly wo,

Is childhood bowed in grief;

In sunny skies let fledgings fly ;

Be prairies green and fair,
Ere the young fawns come forth to try

Their glancing footsteps there;
Nature and Instinct guard the young-
But only from the human tongue
Love's holy vows are given ;
And only human hearts are filled
With springs of Love, that, when distilled,
Rise to their fount in heaven.

And thus doth feeling's signet prove
Man's origin divine,

When eye meets eye in trusting love,
We feel the sacred sign;
Of life, immortal life! how mild
The glorious promise shines,
When the young mother o'er her child,
First reads the deathless lines
The spirit on its clay impresses,