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WINTER AND SPRING.

Winter is gone, and May, Queen of the Year, must in a few days resign her Crown of Flowers:-the following poems are not, therefore, as seasonable as we might have made them; but as none will require poetry either to be written or published according to the Calendar, we have no doubt they will still prove acceptable to our readers. The ode of Earl Conrad is taken from a note, by the translator, to Sismondi's "Historical view of the Literature of the South of Europe;" and was long since intended to usher in, instead of bidding adieu to "merry, merry May;" but was forgotten. It was written several centuries ago.

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Dawns sometimes lovely on a night of storm
Horrid with sleet and snow. Forth issuing,
We boldly seek the keen external air,
And the crisp surface crackles to the step
That bears us onward, gayly wandering.

On the charm'd eye with sudden beauty bursts
A glorious vison. Where accordant blend
Their various branches, in eternal green,
The holly, cedar, and low-spreading pine,
How beautiful the drapery that falls

O'er the still boughs! how pure! how heav'nly white!

And as the sun, with horizontal beam,

And furtive glance, peeps passionately through
As if enamor'd of a scene so fair,

See, from each silver'd leaf and drooping bough
The diamond drops depend, and softly shine
In his fond ray dissolving. Graceful bends
Each little bush, beneath its folded robe
Of spotless white, in adoration bow'd;
And each recess, with its pure canopy
Of arching branches delicately wove,
And fleecy curtains hung in careful ease,
Fit spot would seem for angels, when they turn,
Rejoicing, from their ministry on earth,
To worship in. And Fancy whispers us,
As all entranc'd we thread the lovely maze,
A fairy paradise the still wood seems,

Where marble trees from alabaster grow,
And from each bough hang clustering jewels rare,
And pearls unknown to earth-a rich repast
For the enchanted eye. Not regal pomp
In oriental climes might boast display
So brilliant; ocean's darkest cave unseen,
With its deep mines of undiscover'd gems,
Might never rival, in the glare of day,
These trembling drops that, in a morning beam,
Distil from frozen leaflets.
In these shades

For the dead year how sweet a resting place!
As the old pilgrim, worn with various toil
In gath'ring blessings for ungrateful man,
Sinks down and dies, here may he sleep in state,
Where nature spreads for him a couch of snow,
And throws her pall around him. Let him sleep
In solitudes so lovely, undisturbed,
Where, ere the scene dissolve, each leaf for him
Shall weep the gentle tribute of its tears.

Winter, thou art a faithful moralist,
And heav'nly lessons in thy works lie hid
For him who seeks them. While the faded leaf,
The wither'd grass,-the aspect of decay
By nature worn, remind us of our doom,
These rare creations of thy gentler will
Soften the rigor of foreshadow'd fate,
And mingle hopes with fears;-cast on the grave
A living light, the welcome smile of Heaven.
Virginia.

"The following song of Earl Conrad of Kirchberg, is translated very closely, and in the same measure as the original:

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May, sweet May, again is come:
May, that frees the land from gloom.
Children, children, up and see
All her stores of jollity!

O'er the laughing hedgerow's side
She hath spread her treasures wide;
She is in the greenwood shade,
Where the nightingale hath made
Every branch and every tree
Ring with her sweet melody:
Hill and dale are May's own treasures,
Youth, rejoice in sportive measures;
Sing ye! join the chorus gay!
Hail this merry, merry May!

"Up, then, children, we will go
Where the blooming roses grow,
In a joyful company

We the bursting flowers will see;
Up! your festal dress prepare!
Where gay hearts are meeting, there
May hath pleasures most inviting,
Heart, and sight, and ear delighting.
Listen to the bird's sweet song,
Hark! how soft it floats along!

Courtly dames our pleasures share, Never saw I May so fair; Therefore, dancing will we go: Youths rejoice, the flowrets blow; Sing ye join the chorus gay! Hail this merry, merry May !

"Our manly youths,-where are they now?
Bid them up, and with us go
To the sporters on the plain;
Bid adieu to care and pain,

Now, thou pale and wounded lover!
Thou thy peace shalt soon recover:
Many a laughing lip and eye
Speaks the light heart's gaiety.
Lovely flowers around we find,
In the smiling verdure twined,
Richly steep'd in May dews glowing :
Youths! rejoice, the flowers are blowing:
Sing ye! join the chorus gay!
Hail this merry, merry May!

"Oh, if to my love restored,
Her, o'er all her sex adored,
What supreme delight were mine!
How would Care her sway resign!
Merrily in the bloom of May,
I would weave a garland gay;
Better than the best is she,
Purer than all purity!

For her spotless self alone,
I will sing this changeless one;
Thankful or unthankful, she
Shall my song, my idol, be.
Youths, then join the chorus gay!
Hail this merry, merry May!"

THE BOOK OF NATURE.

"There are two books from which I collect my divinity-besides that written one of God, another of his servant Nature: That universal and public manuscript that lies expanded unto the eyes of all. . . . . Possibly, even the Heathens knew better how to join and read these mys tical letters, than many Christians, who cast a more care. less eyen on these common hieroglyphics, and disdain to suck divinity from the flowers of nature."-Religio-Medici, (Sir Thomas Browne.)

The manuscript of Nature's Book

Is open spread to every eye, But few into the leaves will look

That round them lie:

In characters both quaint and old,
Yet easy to be understood;
On every hill and vale unrolled,
In every wood.

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TO THE TURTLE-DOVE.

Loving, kissing, cooing,
Billing, fondling, wooing,
Gentle, pretty Turtle-dove,
Whiling away the hours,
Mid bowers of sweet flow'rs,
How I envy thee thy love!

Thou art lovely, lovely!
Soothingly and smoothly
Fall thy notes upon the ear,
Music sweet revealing,
Pain and sorrow healing,
Calming, soothing all who hear.

Undulating, swelling

Float thy cooings, telling
Of the spark which fires thy breast,
Blandly languid falling,
And the lovers calling,
When the spring in green is drest.

Thou thy pinions lending,
I my journey bending,
To the land of promised rest,
Would fly, would fly, would fly,
On high, on high, on high
To the regions ever blest!

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Her lot is lonely! one by one have parted

The silvery links that wove Life's chain of yore: She is a mourner-widow'd--broken-hearted-Her vanish'd hopes time never can restore. The bread of bitterness she oft hath broken-And with it mingled Marah's cup of wo; Her isolated heart hath long since spoken Its farewell to the world of pride and show.

Her pilgrim feet are weary--yet she cometh

Up to this place, this holiest place of prayer-Poor, care-worn child of clay! 'tis here she summeth Her all of happiness :--and pausing there She stilleth each human throbbing ere she enters Those gracious doors which guard her hallow'd home ;-

There with a child-like faith her hope she centres, Therefore with lowliest reverence doth she come.

Meekly she enters, and as meekly kneeling
Lifteth her heavy heart in earnest prayer;--
A peace divine o'er her bruis'd spirit stealing--
Truly she knoweth that her God is there.
Within those consecrated walls she leareth
Words that her weak and fainting soul sustain :-
Her grateful heart echoes the chant which beareth
Heavenward each suppliant and adoring strain.
And now with footsteps faltering, she goeth

Up to the shrine with sacred symbols spread;
With lowly self-distrusting heart she boweth,
A guest at that free feast where all are bid.
By the Atoning Cross she groweth stronger-
For holiest hopes have risen in her heart;
O'er life's vain sorrow museth she no longer-
Her wants have vanish'd, and her woes depart!
The burden of her heaviest cares is lifted-

His love hath roll'd the gathering mists away, And through the steadfast eye of Faith she's gifted To see the dawning of a clearer day. Only the Hope that looketh up to Heaven

Her own she calleth, yet 'tis a hope divineA joy "not of this world" to her is given, And she goes forth patient to bide her time!

STANZAS.

My days and hours of childhood, oh! how often I recall you,
For well do I remember that no evil did befall you;
My youth is past-my manhood's come, I now can truly

say,

I ne'er spend time in business, as I used to spend in play.

My fleeting moments pass'd so sweet, when life was in its spring,

When all my feelings yet were fresh, and hope was on the wing;

When with the sun I rose each morn, and with him went

to rest;

I slept upon my childhood's bed, he slumbered in the west. I used to wander through the fields, with dog, or gun, or

book,

And when the walk or hunt was o'er, to bathe me in the

brook;

My days then passed so happily, they never seem'd too long,

And when the welcome evening came, I cheer'd me with

a song.

I used to love the solitude, of wood, or hill, or plain,
And ever shunn'd the haunts of men, because they gave
me pain;

It hurt my childish vanity because I was not sought,
And singled from the rabble crowd, as seem'd to me I ought.

I used to lay me in the shade, beneath a holly tree,
And think, if yet in after times, some good reserv'd for me;
If yet, it might, in future years, the name I call'd my own
Be coupled with some glorious act, or great deed I had done.

These were the joys of childhood, with its pastimes and | More graceful than the bounding fawn that sprang to her its haunts,

caress.

But now succeed the toil of life, its business and its And oh, with more than Angel's power, a mortal heart to

wants;

Its pleasures and its prospects here, held out to court or
brave,

To soothe, to rouse, to frighten us-Love, Glory, and the
Grave.

J.

bless!

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A MORN IN PARADISE.

As the learned have not yet come to a decision respecting the location of the Garden of Eden, the writer of the following verses has availed herself of the "Poet's License," and supposed it in a valley.

The mist of ages vanished-and lo, serene and bright,
All dewy green, and sparkling in the pearly morning light,
Uprose fair Eden's mountains, uprose her forests tall,
To guard the lovely valley as with an emerald wall.

SLEEP.

With curtains drawn, with bright glare dimmed, by hand as soft and fair

As the white cloud that floats along and woos the passing air,

A form, as bright and glowing as the sun's last lingering ray,

MORN walked the hills of Eden, but she came not there Sank, sun-like, though at noon, to sleep the dreary hours

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Gently upon my bosom white, the very way I chose,
And floated zephyr-like about, as my breathing fell and

rose !"

But most the gentle warblers from out each downy nest,
Gave an enchantment to the air, as if of soul possest.
As sweet the strain as Seraph's call, when heard at even-Like direful murder truth will out; conviction in her look,
That same soft cheek was flushed, and pale, "ob, misery
She paced the yielding carpet till the very glasses shook.

tide,

It floated o'er the fragrant dale, or up the mountain's side.

But soon, more fair than Morning that charmed the eastern skies,

More loving than the tender Night, with its soft and starry

eyes,

could it be !

"Too true, too true, oh! fatal nap-Not to lie gracefully !" EFFIE

Charleston, S. C.

THE FORTUNES CF ESTHER, THE JEWESS.

CHAPTER I.

mouth was pressed upon the pale and rigid lips of her lifeless parent. Amidst agonizing sobs, her tiny voice broke forth in plaintive appeals to the tender love and affection of that fond and pious mother, who had so often pressed her to her bosom, but whose ear was now closed to all the sounds of earth. "Mother, dear mother, look up-look kindly on thy Esther: O do not close your eyes so fast," and her little fingers essayed to press back the lids now compressed in death. Speak, dear mother, one kind word, thy little Esther calls thee. She is dead and will not hear me," she ex

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The gray twilight of early dawn had thrown a pale, broad streak upon the eastern horizon-the harbinger of approaching day—and faintly marked the dusky outlines of the lofty and stupendous hanging gardens of Babylon, that reared their broad terraces above the out-spread city, like a mighty promontory over a sleeping ocean. Hard claimed, clasping her little hands with passionate by this astonishing and beautiful display of human grief, and pressing her face to her mother's bosom. art, there stood a splendid and stately mansion,- These simple and touching outpourings of infant the abode of wealth and luxury. In that palace sorrow, powerfully affected the subdued and godly of earthly greatness, was heard the sound of many spirit of her gray-headed relative. Strengthened instruments pouring forth, all night, soft and vo- and confirmed by a pious resignation to the will of luptuous music to a riotous crowd of mirthful rev- that God, whose righteous wisdom plans and exeellers. The feast was sumptuous and set off by cutes only what is good, he had curbed his own all the glitter and magnificence of Eastern splen- tumultuous yearnings for a loved and honored memdor. The bound of the gay dance was heard in ber of his house and tribe; but the wailings of those halls, and the shouts of frantic mirth broke that helpless innocent, crushed down by sorrow, upon the still ear of night. It was the clamorous distended his heart to bursting, and the big tears festival of licentious passions, luxuriating in un-of tender sympathy overflowed his cheeks. It bridied license. In the wild delirium of sensual was a thrilling and an awful sight to look upon excess, the past and the future were equally for- that man, so calmly and so sternly armed against gotten; nor did a thought upon the destitute and suf- rebellious nature, thus subdued by earthly passion. fering crowds in that immense city intrude amidst He raised the meek and unresisting child in his the wasteful abundance that cloyed upon the over-arms, and with tender affection thrusting away the feasted appetite. Near this palace of feasting clustering curls from her beautiful forehead, kissed her again and again. She yet wept, and her little bosom was convulsed with quick and deep drawn sobs; yet her grief was passive and her spirit as gentle as a lamb's.

ants.

and mirth, and almost flanking it, stood a wretched little hovel, so small and so miserable in its exterior as to strike the fancy with a perfect display of the extremes in contrast. Within this covert of humble poverty there was silence--deep, solemn, and mel "Esther, child of bereavement and of early ancholy silence, save when broken by the low, sorrows," he kindly whispered, "remember the plaintive moans of a sobbing child, or the deep words of thy pious mother. She taught thee that groans of a gray-headed man, its only living ten- to murmur at the decrees of thy God, was to rebel The ill according sounds of mirth, too, against his government. He blessed thee with the from that house of feasting, would at intervals nurture and instructions of a tender mother, and burst within these narrow walls of mourning. He has taken her away. His righteous will has Upon a hard and narrow couch lay the wasted and not revealed to us the causes of his action; but meagre corpse of a female shrouded in the hum- we know that all He does is good and just; thereble habiliments of poverty--that last covering of fore, believe He saw it best to take thy mother the mortal body, the appalling dress of the char- from all of us. His strong arm can raise thee up nel house. How calm! how quiet in that sleep! many joys and comforts, and surely-He will bless Despised and neglected child of indigence, thy all that love and obey him. The cheering rays of toiling and drooping spirit is now at rest--thy trou- His countenance were cast upon the path of thy bles are over and thy tears have ceased to flow, pious mother throughout life. How peaceful, how though others weep for thee. Thy God has ended happy she lived, in the full consciousness of his thy weary pilgrimage, and spread over thee the man- approbation? With horror would she have shrunk tle of His peace. Now freed from the trammels of from the exchange of her life of humble poverty, dust and the bondage of man, thou mayest wander for the throne of Xerxes himself, with all his by the stream and roam over the hills of Pales- greatness, surrounded as it is with darkness and tine--the land of thy fathers and the home of thy apostacy from God. Though firm in her reliance dreams. At the head of the couch and bending on His merciful providence, one anxious fear, inover the silent corpse of her mother, sat a little separable from a mother's love, preyed upon her girl, about six years old. Her small slender arms troubled spirit--the fear that thou shouldst want were twined about her neck and her beautiful an earthly friend when death should take her from

VOL. XIII-44

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