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BY J. R. BARRICK.
In a low and ceaseless murmur,
Gently flows the forest streamDay and night to nature chanting
Music sweet as song and dreamIn the mirrored sky revealing
All the beauty of its gleam.
Hushed is the song
The woods among.
Withered, dead, Are buds of spring, and summer's gayer flowers; They perished with the bright and sunny hours
So soon that fled!
Hopes high and glad Have faded, too, with all that's fair and bright; And hearts that summer hours found gay and light
Are drear and sad.
Spring will restore
of joy once more.
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.
But to the beart That's blighted in its youth, oh! what can bring Its freshness back! This desolated thing
Can never part
With all its woe;
The sunset's glow
Ilastening onward, onward ever,
Like the life that flows in meAs a wave upon the river
Hastening to the distant seaAs a hope the hidden future
Searching for the things to be.
The starry skies The gleam of waters in the silver light That Luna sheds upon the brow of night
When daylight dios
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.
Each glorious thing That once was loved in days forever past, Will cause but vain regrets-fresh anguish cast
New sorrows bring
No radiant beam Of gummer sun can e'er recall the glow Which the geared heart hath lost; dark is the flow
Of its cbilled stream.
Thug life's fountain to the river
In a winding current flowsAnd the river to the ocean
In a channel deeper grows, Till the fountain, river, ocean,
In eternity repose.
THE FLOWERS OF SPRING.
I THINK ON THE E.
BY IORACE W. SMITH.
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.
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:
To some forgotten thing,
Among the flowers of spring.
No after spring renews
Our souls so early lose:
The birds may gayly sing,
Among the flowers of spring.
Each brighteyed flow'ret opes;
Nor blighted like our hopes;
Its long-lost light will bring-
Among the flowers of spring. Huntingdon, March, 1852.
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?
THE OLD CHURCIYARD,
TIINK OF ME.
When friends around thee throng; When hearts are light with playful mirth,
And lighter wakes the song;
Recalled by memory,
Oh! give one thought to me.
Reflects o'er hill and dale,
That slept within the vale;
And soar from bondage free,
Then give one thought to me.
Fast fading into night,
And quiet is delight;
When on thy bended knee,
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,
And could almost have worshipped thee! That gray old church of bygone times
We gazed upon together then
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.
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
T'd ask ope thought from thee.
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.
FANCIES DURING ILLNESS.
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.
BI FIDELA н. соод 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 houri waits, And beckons, with white hands, to the Celestial gates ?
THE BATTLE OF LIFE.
BY SAMUEL D. PATTERSON. L'AE battle is waging! Why, warrior, away! Dost thou listlessly stand from the din of the fray, With thy head drooping low, and thy hand on thy brow, As though Life and its conflict were naught to thee now?
Ah no! your beauty is of earth; it takes
Such forms as float before the artist's eye,
To that strange life that ne'er again shall die;
Are those with which a glowing fancy teems!
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.
Why motionless thou, whilst the gathering throng,
But lately, thy heart was absorbed in the fight,
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.
BY JOIN W. BEAZEL.
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.
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.
Wouldst thou list to the foeman exultingly cry,
to fly? Wouldst thou see thy friends mourning, in sorrow and
sbame, 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 dismayStand firm for the truth, and thy valor display!
There's music in the joyous spring,
Where young flow'rs gem the sod; And through each bright and lovely thing
It whispers, “There is a God !”
Was dearer far to me
Or starlight on the sea.
Be strong in the right! 'Tis a panoply sure,
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 Lee. Uniontown, Pa.
AN 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 man. illa, soe “ Chitchat."
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 shado 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.
PATTERNS FOR SILK EMBROIDERY.
PATTERNS FOR SILK EM KNITTED BERRIES AND FRUIT. BROIDERY.
APPLE AND ORANGE. Cast on thirty-four stitches with white knitting cotton, No. 10.
Knit one plain row.
Second row.—Purled, till within two from the end, turn back.
Third row.-Knit plain till within two from the end, turn back.
Fourth row.—Purled, till within four from the end, turn back.
Fifth rou.—Knit plain till within four from the end, turn back,
Sicth rou.-Purled, till within six from the end, turn back.
Seventh row.-Knit plain till within six from the end, turn back.
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 elev. onth, 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 This pattern forms an elegant border for a merino that there are no purled rows, no clove put in, and or cloth cloak, by working the curved line with cord } no stalk. and the rose-buds with silk.