THE HOUR OF THOUGHT.

YOUNG Harmony aside hath laid
His new strung lyre, and seeks the glade!
Where heaven unfolds her robes of night,
Bedecked with starry gems of light,
And soft the breezes murmuring swell,
Along the streamlet of the dell !

A sweetness dwells within the air,
For Silence builds her temple there,
And reigns the queen, of all that's free
From earth's vain joys and revelry;
While here calm reason often brings,
The image of serener things.

On moments calm, we oft intrude,
To muse on themes of Solitude;
And while we tread the hollow ground,
In anthems, we our praise resound,
And list to echo's trembling notes,
As on the gale its music floats.

And here, along the flowery way,
Where all is pure, we love to stray;

For then deep recollection flies

Through all our brain-and wisdom tries
To tell of bliss, the wise have sought,
And bid us seize the hour of thought!

And this still hour, of all that fly
The pages of reflection by,

We love for here alone, we find
The food that fills a thoughtful mind :—
That stream so fair, whose winding way,
Adds beauty to the moon's pale ray !

A HUSBAND'S LETTER.

In all my thoughts, a vision still, portrays the moments fled;

I think I hear, when all alone, your footstep's quiet

tread;

But when I look around my hearth, 'tis vacant, and

to me

There seems a spot, more desolate, than leaf-forsaken tree.

Perhaps it is a fancy, yet, my heart hath strove in vain, To keep my lips from uttering,-"I wish you back again;"

So cheerful do you make appear, this humble cot of

mine,

"Tis Summer all the year with me, while Spring is ever thine!

Then can you wonder, dearest wife, that I should lonely be,

Since late my lot was blessed indeed, and so adorned by thee?

Home, is not home, when kindred hearts, are severed

far away

"Tis as amidst the weary night, we long for smiling day.

True love can never chilly grow, while May-day's genial showers,

Are beautifying all the earth, with living trees and flowers;

Oh! no, your own warm bosom tells, you ne'er at night forget

The lone one, who is cherishing, the presence of you yet!

I am not jealous that you dwell, among those blossoms young

But hard it is, Eliza dear, to rule the faltering tongue;

For often what we utter, seems our inmost thoughts

exprest,

While there's a wish, a silent wish, still lurking in the breast.

E'en now, although I call you back, I would say,— "longer stay"—

I know 'twas for the healthful air, you left these circles gay;

And though we dread to separate, I know the hour

will come,

When we must hear the heavenly voice, "Come weary spirits home."

Then roam you o'er your

little boy,

native hills, and with our

Be merry as the morning lark, and take your fill of joy!
You ever were a tender wife, and dutiful to me,
Then heaven shall hear a constant prayer, for thy
sweet babe, and thee!

I bless the hour, each morn and eve, that God, the Lord of all,

Hath promised, in the darkest path, to aid us if we fall; I deem His mercy very great, yet human thoughts complain

Home, is not home, 'till you, my love, return to me again.

THE HAPPY MORNING.

TO A YOUNG LADY ON THE OCCASION OF HER MARRIAGE.

OH! hasten with smiles, to the altar of love,
While the morning in glory is breaking-
While hope, like a messenger sent from above,
In light o'er thy spirit is waking.

The Spring is adorning her beautiful trees-
The birds to the violets are singing ;-
But the joys in thy bosom are purer than these,
With fountains of ecstacy springing.

Then haste, 'tis a holy engagement you make,
From home, and dear kindred to sever;

Thine husband the pledge, so endearing, shall take
With solemn truths-plighted for ever!

Loved home! how its breathing of childhood's fair hour,

Calls forth every fond recollection:

But heaven is thy home, and while guarded with pow'r,

Let there reign thy deepest affection.