oncealed--
They in thy mirror still revealed!

Before the morning sunbeams kissed
The face of Nature--veiled in mist--
And heralded with golden ray
The opening of the perfect day--
Ere yet the sable shades of night
At dawn's approach had winged their flight--
We've listed to the whispering breeze
That's wafted o'er the trembling trees,
And seemed to hear the voices sweet
Of loved ones now we ne'er can meet
Till earthly night shall pass away--
Supplanted by immortal day!

And thus in retrospective mood,
Alone with Nature's solitude
In some secluded sylvan dell,
Her myriad voices float and swell
And flitting shadows softly tell
Of dear ones lost--yet loved so well!
Then to the sunny home where dwelt--
(Ere yet the envious tyrant dealt
The blow that blighted hopes have felt)--
Fond fancy wanders, and can see
Once happy scenes that ne'er can be
Lost in thy shades, O Memory!

But those to us so cruelly denied
Are drifting now upon some fairer tide--
Their scattered ashes on Hope's pinions rise
And people realms beyond the azure skies!
Then may our faltering footsteps lead
To where fond hearts may never bleed--
Where vanished faces, cherished forms,
Are anchored safe from life's rude storms;
Where strains seraphic, soft and low,
The rapt ear greet, and we shall know
The loved and lost we only see
In visions of sweet Memory!

A MOTHER'S GRAVE.

I.

The years have passed in ceaseless round
Since first they laid her here to rest
In dreamless sleep beneath the silent mound,
With folded hands upon her gentle breast.

II.

The ivy twines about the crumbling stone,
And Springtime's scented blossoms fling
Their incense o'er the peaceful home
That knows no more of suffering.

III.

Full many a Summer's sun has shed
Its brightest smile upon the hallowed spot,
And sobered Autumn and wild Winter spread
Their garments here--she heeds them not!

IV.

The feathered wildlings of the wood and field
Their untaught melody around it make,
But she who sleeps with eyes so softly sealed
Their gladsome songs can never more awake.

V.

O restful sleep beneath the crumbling mold
To dream no more of hopes unrealized!
O Grave! What treasures do thy confines hold
By us so dearly loved and fondly prized!

A FRECKLE-FACED BOY.

I.

I'm just in my glory when the cat I can tease,
Or I'm hunting for bird nests up in the trees,
And I wear out my pants in the seat and th