The voices which are silent there HON. MRS. NORTON. IDLE WORDS. I have a high sense of the virtue and dignity of the female character; and would not, by any means, be thought to attribute to the ladies emphatically, the fault here spoken of. But I have remarked it in some of my friends, who, in all but this, were among the loveliest of their sex. In such, the blemish is more distinct and striking, because so strongly contrasted with the superior delicacy and loveliness of their natures. "MY GOD;" the beauty oft exclaim'd, "T was not upon the bended knee, "T was not in heavenly strains to raise But in the gay and thoughtless crowd, 'Mid scenes of mirth and mockery proud, She call'd upon that awful name, The idlest thing that flattery knew, From those sweet lips profanely drew I thought-How sweet that voice would be, ANON. TO A SISTER. YES, dear one, to the envied train But not in Fashion's brilliant hall, O, think not, think not of me there. And thou art sad, remember me. Remember me-but, loveliest, ne'er, But when the waning moon-beam sleeps Remember me, I pray-but not Cold Autumn weeps, remember me. Remember me,-but choose not, dear, Remember me-but not to join If haply some thy friends should praise; "Tis far too dear, that voice of thine To echo what the stranger says. They know us not-but shouldst thou meet Some faithful friend of me and thee, Softly, sometimes, to him repeat My name, and then remember me. Remember me-not, I entreat, In scenes of festal week-day joy, For then it were not kind or meet, The thought thy pleasure should alloy; But on the sacred, solemn day, And, dearest, on thy bended knee, When thou for those thou lov'st dost pray, Sweet spirit, then remember me. Remember me-but not as I And doubts 't would grieve thee should I tell; But in thy calm unclouded heart, Where dark and gloomy visions flee, Oh there, my sister, be my part, And kindly there remember me, EDWARD EVERETT. THE WRECK. ALL night the booming minute-gun The queenly ship! brave hearts had striven, We saw her mighty cable riven, Like floating gossamer; We saw her proud flag struck that mòrn, Her helm beat down, her deck uptorn, We saw her treasures cast away; And gold was strewn the wet sands o'er, And gorgeous robes-but, oh! that shore We saw the strong man, still and low, A crush'd reed thrown aside! Yet, by that rigid lip and brow, Not without strife he died! And near him on the sea-weed lay, But well our gushing hearts might say, For her pale arms a babe had press'd Her very tresses had been flung To wrap the fair child's form, Where still their wet, long streamers clung, All tangled by the storm. And beautiful, 'midst that wild scene, Deep in her bosom lay his head, He had known little of her dread, Oh, human love! whose yearning heart, So stamps upon thy mortal part Its passionate adieu! Surely thou hast another lot, There is some home for thee, Where thou shalt rest, remembering not The moaning of the sea! MRS. HEMANS. |