THE POET'S SONG TO THE STARS.
Paraphrased from the German of Körner.
Ou, ye that calmly move-
In holy peace above-
Ruled by harmonious love-

Since first the world was new!
Oh, solemn stars of night!
Upon your path of light-
Eternal, pure, and bright-
I speak to you!

While trustingly I gaze
Upon your shining rays,
A tender softness plays

Within my breast and brain.
Sweet stars! I have but three
Fond wishes dear to me,-
Oh, do not let them be

Breath'd forth in vain!

The love that I have known,The love I thought my own,It fails-and left alone,

Mine is a joyless lot! Restore that love which blest The poet's clinging breast; This is my first requestRefuse it not !

And deem it not too hard, Oh, stars! to grant the bard One-only one-reward

For all his glowing lays! The lyre beneath my hand, Oh, let it but command In this, my Fatherland, One voice of praise !

And when death's hour is nigh,
Then swan-like let me die,
And sunwards let me fly,-

A singer pure and true!
When hence I shall depart,
Oh, bear my fervent heart,
From sorrow s piercing dart,
Sweet stars, to you!

ALICIA J. SPARROW.

FRAGMENTS.

The bitterness of death is felt by those
Who lie neglected on a foreign shore,
With no kind eye to watch the pallid brow,
With no sweet voice to speak of hope and heaven,

Though all were night; if but the light
From Friendship's altar crown'd us,
"Twould prove the bliss of earth was this-
Our Home and Friends around us!

CHARLES SWAIN.

THE PROGRESS OF A SOUL.

BY MRS. JAMES GRAY.

Lit by the Creator's hand,

By his breath to brightness fanned,
Weak and scarce discerned at birth,
Comes the pilgrim soul to earth,

Shrined within the babe's frail frame,
Never dreaming whence it came,
Never dreaning of the powers

Slumbering in its depths—the seeds

Of many thoughts, and words, and deeds;
Never knowing how it feeds;

Never counting passing hours,

Yet every hour increased and brightening,
Every day the bondage tightening
Which must fetter it while here,
Wanderer through this darkened sphere.
Yet, though earthly ties are round it,
Though the shroud of day hath bound it,
Still it struggles to be gone,
On, on, on!

Through the infant's wailing sadness,
And its gleams of quiet gladness,
Soon of inward thoughts and feelings
Come the short but sure revealings.
When it clasps the offered flower,
Feeling beauty's thrilling power-
When its eye will clearly scan

Common things with look intense-
Brightened hath the intelligence
That shall after be the sense

Of the full-grown, careful man-
Then it is forever striving

With Thought's ocean, floating, driving;

Wondering, with most wondrous glee,
That such things indeed should be.

Truths that on the surface lie,

Seem its own discovery.

Might it but thus happy stray,

Ever in this stage delay?

No! its task must all be doneOn, on, on!

On! through all the Cloudland wrought
From dreaming fancy mixed with thought;
On through all the heavier clouds,
Where the lightning Passion shrouds;
Onward still, to the clear air,

Of cloud, and mist, and tempest bare;
But is this the soul? Alas!

What stains of dark and clinging clay-
What dust has gathered by the way-
What earthly fire is in its ray?

It may no farther pass.
Upwards it hath striven till now,
But its wings are drooping low;
It cannot bear the clearer space
That leadeth to a holy place;

In its fallen nature see,
Vain its strugglings up must be,
Yet its spirit cannot fly
From its immortality.

On, on, on! no stop, no rest!
It is on earth a pilgrim guest
Not a dweller-all in vain ;
Upwards cannot pass the stain
On its essence! But beside
The pathway doth á fountain glide.
Here that saddened pilgrim may
Wash the dark some stains away,
And drink from that eternal spring,
Draughts that shall sustain its wing,

Till it reach the bright abode

Of Him who traced its upward roadIts Maker and Redeemer-God! Where the tree of life doth grow, Where the living waters flow, It shall rest, no more disturbed; No wild passions to be curbed; No more struggling to be gone, On, on, on!

TO A YOUNG FRIEND.

BY MRS. JAMES GRAY.

Maiden! we met, we loved, and now we part-
Ours have been pleasant hours,

Passed by the sea, or amidst sweetest flowers,
While heart grew close to heart.

Ours was no common love, no childish dreaming-
We spake not of it oft;

But in our souls we felt it calm and soft,
And from our eyes 'twas beaming.

And yet we are far different-thy sweet life
A bright and pleasant rill,

All beautiful, and pure, and singing still-
Mine the dark ocean's strife,

Or dead, not calm! The river seeks the sea,
Pouring its stainless waves

Into the ocean's deep-embosomed caves-
So came thy thoughts to me!

We part! yet sweet! we never shall forget
Each other-many a thing

Simple and done in carelessness, shall cling
To memory fondly yet.

Thou wilt remember me whene'er thy thought
Is fixed on grassy bank,

Or weedy pond, or water-lily dank,

That we so dearly sought.

And with the sweet wild thyme, or yellow furze, And the full-sounding sea

Blended with things like these my form will be, When thy dear memory stirs.

1 shall remember thee, too-not with flowers, For with full many a one,

Swept from the world, like lightning seen and

Where are the friends of earlier years

The fond, the faithful-hearted-
With whom we shared the smiles and tears
Of days long since departed?

The friends who cheer'd our infant hours,
And childhood's moments brighten'd,
Whose fondness strewed life's path with flowers,
And every sorrow lighten'd-

Oh! where are they! The stream of time
Has never ceased its flowing,

But on its breast our manhood's prime
To age is swiftly going.

And swiftly, too, adown that tide

Have passed those friends once round us; But death's dark stream shall ne'er divide The links of love that bound us.

Yes, pray for those thou lovest; if uncounted wealth were thine,

The treasures of the boundless deep, the riches of the mine,

Thou couldst not to thy cherish'd friend so dear a gift impart

As the earnest benediction of a deeply-loving heart.

Seek not the worldling's friendship, it shall droop and wane ere long,

In the cold and heartless glitter of the pleasureloving throng;

But seek the friend who, when thy prayer for him shall murmur'd be,

Breathes forth in faithful sympathy a fervent prayer for thee.

And should thy flowery path of life beco.ne a path of pain,

The friendship formed in bonds like these thy spirit shall sustain;

Years may not chill, nor change invade, nor poverty impair,

The love that grew and flourished at the holy time of prayer.

THE TWO MAIDENS.*

FIRST MAIDEN.

Sister, sweet sister, why pluck ye the flowers, That bloom all so bright in the garden bowers, Where the sunshine of heaven falls light on their head,

And the dew of the evening is over them shed?

SECOND MAIDEN.

I'll weave thee a coronal for thy hair,
Of these lowly flowrets so fresh and fair.

FIRST MAIDEN.

Sister, sweet sister, oh, weave not now
A wreath to bind on my aching brow,
For I feel in my head such a burning pain,
As a fire within were searing my brain.
Sister, dear sister, oh, bring them not nigh,
Or the flowers will wither, the blossoms die!

SECOND MAIDEN.

I'll make the a bouquet, so bright and gay,
To wear near thy heart-oh! say me not nay!

FIRST MAIDEN.

Sister, fair sister, 'twould find no rest,
O'er the throbbing pulse of this feverish breast.
It would seem to share in my bosom's strife,
Let them still feel the sunshine, the dew, and the
And flutter as though each fair flower had life!

showers

Oh, let them not perish, the beautiful flowers!

FLORENCE.

* Suggested by wearing flowers which were fresh at noonday, yet withered ere night.