There is that come over your brow and eye,

Which speaks of a world where the flowers must

die!

-Ye smile! but your smile hath a dimness yet— Oh! what have ye look'd on since last we met?

Ye are changed, ye are changed!-and I see not here

All whom I saw in the vanish'd year;

There were graceful heads, with their ringlets bright, Which toss'd in the breeze with a play of light, There were eyes, in whose glistening laughter lay No faint remembrance of dull decay!

There were steps that flew o'er the cowslip's head,
As if for a banquet all earth were spread;
There were voices that rung through the sapphire
sky,

And had not a sound of mortality!

Are they gone? is their mirth from the mountains pass'd?

-Ye have look'd on death since ye met me last!

I know whence the shadow comes o'er you now,
Ye have strewn the dust on the sunny brow!
Ye have given the lovely to earth's embrace,
She hath taken the fairest of beauty's race,
With their laughing eyes and their festal crown,
They are gone from amongst you in silence down!

They are gone from amongst you, the young and fair,
Ye have lost the gleam of their shining hair!

-But I know of a land where there falls no blight,
I shall find them there, with their eyes of light!
Where Death 'midst the blooms of the morn may
dwell,

I tarry no longer-farewell, farewell!

The summer is coming, on soft winds borne,
Ye may press the grape, ye may bind the corn!
For me, I depart to a brighter shore,

Ye are mark'd by care, ye are mine no more.

I go where the loved who have left you dwell,

And the flowers are not Death's-fare ye well, fare

well!

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS.

THE breaking waves dash'd high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods, against a stormy sky,
Their giant branches tost;

And the heavy night hung dark
The hills and waters o'er,

When a band of exiles moor'd their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted came,
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame ;

Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear,

They shook the depths of the desert's gloom

With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard and the sea!

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free!

The ocean-eagle soar'd

From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roar'd— This was their welcome home!

There were men with hoary hair,
Amidst that pilgrim-band—

Why had they come to wither there
Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love's truth;
There was manhood's brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?

-They sought a faith's pure shrine !

Ay, call it holy ground,

The soil where first they trod!

They have left unstain'd what there they found—
Freedom to worship God!

[These glorious verses will find an echo in the breast of every true descendant of the Pilgrims; and give the name of their authoress a place in many hearts. She has laid our community under a common obligation of gratitude. Every one must feel the sublimity and poetical truth, with which she has conceived the scene presented, and the inspiration of that deep and holy strain of sentiment, which sounds forth like the pealing of an organ. ED.]

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