By the fairy tale or the legend old

In that ring of happy faces told;

By the quiet hour when hearts unite

In the parting prayer, and the kind "Good Night;"
By the smiling eye and the loving tone,

Over thy life has the spell been thrown.

And bless that gift!—it hath gentle might,
A guardian power and a guiding light.

It hath led the freeman forth to stand
In the mountain-battles of his land;
It hath brought the wanderer o'er the seas,
To die on the hills of his own fresh breeze;
And back to the gates of his father's hall,
It hath led the weeping prodigal.

Yes! when thy heart in its pride would stray

From the pure first loves of its youth away;

When the sullying breath of the world would come

O'er the flowers it brought from its childhood's home, Think thou again of the woody glade,

And the sound by the rustling ivy made;

Think of the tree at thy father's door,

And the kindly spell shall have power once more!

THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.

THEY grew in beauty, side by side,
They fill'd one home with glee ;-
Their graves are sever'd, far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea.

The same fond mother bent at night
O'er each fair sleeping brow;

She had each folded flower in sight; —
Where are those dreamers now?

.

One, midst the forests of the West,
By a dark stream is laid –

The Indian knows his place of rest,
Far in the cedar shade.

The Sea, the lone blue sea, hath one,
He lies where pearls lie deep;
He was the lov'd of all, yet none
O'er his low bed may weep.

One sleeps where southern vines are drest,
Above the noble slain ;

He wrapt his colors round his breast,
On a blood-red field of Spain.

And one - o'er her the myrtle showers
Its leaves, by soft winds fann'd;
She faded midst Italian flowers,

The last of that bright band.

And parted thus they rest, who play'd
Beneath the same green tree;
Whose voices mingled as they pray'd
Around one parent knee!

They that with smiles lit up the hall

And cheer'd with song the hearth,

Alas! for love, if thou wert all,

And nought beyond, oh, earth!

THE IMAGE IN LAVA.

THOU thing of years departed!
What ages have gone by,

Since here the mournful seal was set
By love and agony !

Temple and tower have moulder'd, Empires from earth have pass'd, And woman's heart hath left a trace Those glories to outlast!

And childhood's fragile image
Thus fearfully enshrined,

Survived the proud memorials rear'd

By conquerors of mankind.

Babe! wert thou brightly slumbering

Upon thy mother's breast, When suddenly the fiery tomb Shut round each gentle guest?

A strange dark fate o'ertook thee,
Fair babe, and loving heart!
One moment of a thousand pangs
Yet better than to part!

Happy if that fond bosom,

On ashes here impress'd,

Thou wert the only treasure, child,
Whereon a hope might rest.

Perchance all vainly lavish'd

Its other love had been;

And when it trusted, nought remain'd

But thorns on which to lean.

Far better then to perish,

Thy form within its clasp,

Than live and loose thee, precious one, *
From that impassion'd grasp.

Oh! I could pass all relics
Left by the pomps of old,
To gaze on this rude monument,
Cast in affection's mould.

Love, human love! what art thou?
Thy print upon the dust
Outlives the cities of renown,
Wherein the mighty trust!

Immortal, oh! immortal

Thou art, whose earthly glow
Hath given these ashes holiness-

It must, it must be so!

▪ The impression of a woman's form, with an infant clasped to

the bosom, was found at the uncovering of Herculaneum.

THE MOTHER'S LOVE.

THERE is none,

In all this cold and hollow world, no fount
Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within
A mother's heart. It is but pride, wherewith
To his fair son the father's eye doth turn,
Watching his growth. Ay, on the boy he looks,
The bright glad creature springing in his path
But as the heir of his great name- the young
And stately tree, whose rising strength ere long
Shall bear his trophies well. And this is love!

This is man's love! - What marvel ? -You ne'er made
Your breast the pillow of his infancy,

While to the fulness of your hearts glad heavings

His fair cheek rose and fell; and his bright hair
Waved softly to your breath ! You ne'er kept watch
Beside him till the last pale star had set,
And morn, all dazzling, as in triumph broke
On your dim weary eye: not yours the face
Which, early faded through fond care for him,
Hung o'er his sleep, and, duly as heaven's light,
Was there to greet his wakening.

You ne'er smoothed

His couch, ne'er sung him to his rosy rest,
Caught his least whisper, when his voice from yours
Had learned soft utterance; pressed your lips to his
When fever parched it; hushed his wayward cries,
With patient, vigilant, never-wearied love!

No! these are Woman's tasks! - In these her youth,
And bloom of cheek, and buoyancy of heart,
Steal from her all unmark'd!