THE EMBLEMS OF FLOWERS.

SWEET blooming flowers of every hue
And tint which heaven bestows,
From simple white to crimson's shade,
Which gems the blushing rose:
Stars of the earth, though born of heaven,
Thy varied blossoms give

A reflex of all hopes and fears,

That in our bosoms live.

Hate, and the deadly train of thought

Its baleful powers instil;

Love, and its potent working charm
To lead us where it will;

Rage, melancholy, grief, despair,

And all that in us dwells;
Yes, and the secrets of our minds,
Thy lovely mirror tells.

Commune with thee, and we shall find

Dear images of old

Already to my heart thou hast

A tale of memory told,

Wherein I long, long days agone

Sat neath this proud old tree,
And sought to gain a maid more dear
Than worlds beside to me;

The summer breezes gently played
So holy, calm, and cool;
The mill had ceas'd its noisy din,

Nor stirr'd the dimpled pool.

Round its old piles the waters swam,
With current eddying slow,
Like lover bidding a farewell,

So lingering loath to go.

'Twas evening, and the moonbeams fell
Upon the primrose pale;

I sought and won her trusting heart,
And told my simple tale;

Aye, on that hour how have I dwelt,
How oft it gave me joy,

When manhood moulded into form
The visions of the boy!

Fair as the lily which the lake
Wraps in its crystal folds,

Pure as the dew, her guileless soul
Its silver chalice holds;

Too fair for earth, she could not live
Till autumn's mellow prime,
The cold and heavy chill of death
Fell on her summer time.

The scent invowen violets bloom,
Screened from intrusive gaze,
Reminds me of her purity,

And simple modest ways.

Each bower her tender hands have trained,

Each flower she gazed upon,

Tells me her spirit yet pervades,

And bids me still love on.

Yes, lovely flowers, and for her sake
I'll love each fragrant bloom

That round me sheds the frankincense
Of nature's own perfume;

And from rude gales or ruthless hands
I'll guard thee, eve and morn,
And offerings that thy summer gives
Shall near my heart be worn.

W. B. A.

SPECIMENS OF AMERICAN POETRY.

NO. I.-LONGFELLOW.

THE OCCULTATION OF ORION,

I SAW, as in a dream sublime,
The balance in the hand of Time,

O'er East and West its beam impended;
And day, with all its hours of light,
Was slowly sinking out of sight,
While, opposite, the scale of night
Silently with the stars ascended.

Like the astrologers of eld, In that bright vision I beheld Greater and deeper mysteries. I saw with its celestial keys, Its chords of air, its frets of fire, The Samian's great Æolian lyre, Rising through all its sevenfold bars, From earth unto the fixed stars. And through the dewy atmosphere, Not only could I see, but hear, Its wondrous and harmonious strings, In sweet vibration, sphere by sphere, From Dian's circle light and near, Onward to vaster and wider rings, Where, chanting through his beard of snows, Majestic, mournful, Saturn goes,

And down the sunless realms of space

Reverberates the thunder of his bass.

Beneath the sky's triumphal arch
This music sounded like a march,
And with its chorus seemed to be
Preluding some great tragedy.
Sirius was rising in the east;
And, slow ascending one by one,
The kindling constellations shone.
Begirt with many a blazing star,
Stood the great giant Algebar,
Orion hunter of the beast!

His sword hung gleaming by his side,
And, on his arm, the lion's hide
Scattered across the midnight air
The golden radiance of its hair.

The moon was pallid, but not faint, Yet beautiful as some fair saint, Serenely moving on her way In hours of trial and dismay. As if she heard the voice of God, Unharmed with naked feet she trod Upon the hot and burning stars, As on the glowing coals and bars That were to prove her strength, and try Her holiness and her purity.

Thus moving on, with silent pace,
And triumph in her sweet, pale face
She reached the station of Orion.
Aghast he stood in strange alarm!
And suddenly from his outstretched arm
Down fell the red skin of the lion
Into the river at his feet.

His mighty club no longer beat
The forehead of the bull; but he
Reeled as of yore beside the sea,
When, blinded by Enopion,
He sought the blacksmith at his forge,
And, climbing up the mountain gorge,
Fixed his blank eyes upon
the sun.

Then, through the silence overhead,
An angel with a trumpet said,
"For evermore, for evermore,
The reign of violence is o'er!"
And, like an instrument that flings
Its music on another's strings,

The trumpet of the angel cast
Upon the heavenly lyre its blast,

And on from sphere to sphere the words
Re-echoed down the burning chords,-
"For evermore, for evermore,

The reign of violence is o'er!"

THE CHANGE.

BY MRS EDWARD THOMAS.

"For now to sorrow must you tune your song, And set your harp to notes of saddest woe."

YES! I must tune to sadness, now,
The harp of gladness late mine own;
Since thou hast falsified the vow,
Which lent it joyousness alone;
That is, if I, alas! can sing
With heart so bow'd by misery.
Oh! like a bird of weary wing,
I could sink to the earth-and die!

It seems a little thing to part,
To sunder old familiar bonds;
But one must bear a broken heart
To which another not responds;
Yet, ah! amid its waste of woe,
Around Love's quenchless, hallow'd Urn,
The flame divinely pure shall glow;
Thou didst inkindle there to burn!

Can I forget?-thy memory
Oblivion never can efface,
For it is deeply 'graven by

The hand whose everlasting trace,
Is meant for other spheres than this,
When God shall beings reconcile,
He pre-ordained for endless bliss,
Though sever'd on this globe awhile.