THE EMBLEMS OF FLOWERS. SWEET blooming flowers of every hue 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 Rage, melancholy, grief, despair, And all that in us dwells; 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, The summer breezes gently played Nor stirr'd the dimpled pool. Round its old piles the waters swam, So lingering loath to go. 'Twas evening, and the moonbeams fell I sought and won her trusting heart, Aye, on that hour how have I dwelt, When manhood moulded into form Fair as the lily which the lake Pure as the dew, her guileless soul Too fair for earth, she could not live The scent invowen violets bloom, 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 That round me sheds the frankincense And from rude gales or ruthless hands W. B. A. SPECIMENS OF AMERICAN POETRY. NO. I.-LONGFELLOW. THE OCCULTATION OF ORION, I SAW, as in a dream sublime, O'er East and West its beam impended; 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 His sword hung gleaming by his side, 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, His mighty club no longer beat Then, through the silence overhead, The trumpet of the angel cast And on from sphere to sphere the words 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, It seems a little thing to part, Can I forget?-thy memory The hand whose everlasting trace, |