A Remembered Face. Though simple weeds are all I bring, They share the sunny smiles of Spring, A A Remembered Face. BY WILLIAM HOWITT. H there! and comest thou thus again, How oft, in hours of lonely pain, Thou risest on my sight! Since last we met, what suns have known Their rising and decline! But none of all those suns have shown A fairer face than thine. 'Tis many a year since I look'd on And thousands since have come and gone, But thine-they often come to me Though memory of all others flee, As not alone, the gorgeous arch, Rear'd in heaven's summer dome, Gleams proudly on its silent march, And heralds good to come, 163 But leaves, where'er its glory pass'd, So freshly on my soul is cast Then welcome to my lonely hours, Come with thy coronal of flowers— Glencoe. BY MISS LANDON, (L. E. L.) LAY AY by the harp, sing not that song, It is a song of other years, Unfit for thee and me. Thy head is pillow'd on my arm, "The ancients," says Lord Bacon, in his "Ten Centuries of Natural History," "believed that where the rainbow rested it left a delicate and heavenly Glencoe. I must not weep, you must not sing I dare not think upon the time 165 It was a silent summer eve: Around us grew the graceful larch, Thy harp was by thee then, as now, The other, wandering 'mid the chords, A soothing music made; Just two or three sweet chords, that seem'd An echo of thy tone,― The cushat's song was on the wind, And mingled with thine own. I look'd upon the vale beneath, We parted; but I kept thy kiss Thy last one-and its sigh, As safely as the stars are kept In yonder azure sky. Again I stood by that hill side, For fire, and blood, and death, had left The lake was cover'd o'er with weeds, There was no sign of corn or grass, Burnt to the dust, an ashy heap I spoke, and only my own words I sat me down to weep, and curse We met again by miracle: Thou wert another one Saved from this work of sin and death,— I was not quite alone. And then I heard the evil tale Of guilt and suffering, Till I pray'd the curse of God might fall On the false-hearted king. I will not think on this,-for thou And gallantly my little bark Speeds through the moonlight sea. Incognita. There's not a shadow in the sky, I must not on so sweet a night If thought were vengeance, then its thought But I am powerless and must flee,— When we should shun our own sweet land, This must not be; yon soft moonlight Away! we seek another land Of hope, stars, flowers, sunshine; 167 Incognita. WRITTEN ON VIEWING THE PICTURE OF AN UNKNOWN LADY. BY JAMES MONTGOMERY. IMAGE of One, who lived of yore, Hail to that lovely mien ! Once quick and conscious, now no more |