Whilst heavy sighs proclaimed all joy was

fled

From him, the childless father, who gazed on Scenes, which brought memories of the loved and gone.

There the green oak in civil triumph bore

The torn remains of the once favorite kite; And the rose-tree displayed a beauteous store Of rosy flowers, which budding, joy'd the

sight;

And sideways spread a mound of unmown grass,

O'er which such bounding feet were used to pass:

All these seem'd shrouded in eternal night, Since from their view the father could but

borrow

Thoughts of past joy, to deepen present sorrow.

The bell ceased tolling-and the solemn tread
Of slow receding footsteps died away,
Till all was gloom, for thinking on the dead,

The village children had forgot their play; They missed their loved companion-he who'd chase

Their fleetest footsteps oft, and win the race;
Sadness and silence mark'd the weary day;
E'en mothers fearfully looked on the bloom
Of their loved boys-and thought upon the
tomb.

THE TWIN SISTERS.

3. R. Taylor.

I saw them first one summer's day
Within their father's bowers,
Wreathing each other's auburn locks
With fragrant leaves and flowers;
They were too frail and beautiful
For this dark world of ours.

Twin sisters were they, having each
The same rich auburn hair,
The same bright eyes and coral lips,
And gay smiles lurking there,
The same slight form and silent voice;
They were a lovely pair.

Two stars in the calm depths of heaven,
Might well resemble them,
Two snow-white lambs upon the lea,
Two rose-buds on one stem,
Two pure and precious jewels set

In the same diadem.

They were together night and day
Through all their early years;
Had the same fancies, feelings, thoughts,
Joys, sorrows, hopes, and fears;
They had a fellowship of smiles,
A fellowship of tears.

If one were gay, through both their hearts
The tide of rapture rushed;
If one were sad, the voice of joy
In both their hearts was hushed;
Yea, all their hearts and sympathies
From the same fountain gushed.
They had no separate interests,
Affecting one alone,

To them distrust and selfishness

Were utterly unknown,

Their hearts were two sweet instruments
Alike in every tone.

I saw them first one summer's day,
They were but six years old,
Wreathing each others hair with flowers,
Crimson and blue and gold,
And finding in their hues and sweets
A store of wealth untold.

And then in childish waywardness
They left their flowers to die,

And round and round the garden chased
A gorgeous butterfly.

Oh! what a happy shout they raised
When it soared into the sky.

And then they talked of future days,
And then they checked their pace,
And spake in low and earnest tones,
And with an earnest face,

Until another butterfly

Recalled them to the chase.

At length they set them down to rest
In a bower of cypress trees,
And placed a pretty story book
Before them on their knees,
And they read an old sad melody,
And their hearts were ill at ease.

And sadness settled like a cloud
Where smiles were wont to brood,
And within bright and laughing eyes
The tears of pity stood,

And they looked in each others face and said, 'Poor children in the wood.'

They were happy all the summer day,
And happier far at night,

When they knelt to say their evening prayers
With spirits pure and bright,

And the father and mother kissed their babes, It was a blessed sight.

The morrow I was far away,

Musing with many fears,

How those sweet creatures would be changed In ten or twenty years,

And I thought about their sweet good night, Till my heart was moved to tears.

ON VICISSITUDE.

Gray.

Now the golden morn aloft

Waves her dew bespangled wing With vermeil cheek, and whisper soft, She woos the tardy spring; Till April starts, and calls around The sleeping fragrance of the ground, And lightly o'er the living scene Scatters her freshest, tenderest green.

New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
Frisking, ply their nimble feet;
Forgetful of their wintry trance,
The birds his presence greet;
But chief the sky-lark warbles high
His trembling, thrilling ecstacy;
And lessening from the dazzled sight,
Melts into air and liquid light.

Yesterday the sullen year

Saw the snowy whirlwind fly; Mute was the music of the air, The herd stood drooping by; Their raptures now, that wildly flow, No yesterday nor morrow know; 'Tis man alone, that joy descries With forward and reverted eyes.