dancing, o'er the dashing strife--
Hope glittering o'er the storm of life.

Beyond, the smooth and mirror'd sheet
So gently steals along,
The very ripples, murmuring sweet,
Scarce drown the wild bee's song;
The violet from the grassy side
Dips its blue chalice in the tide;
And, gliding o'er the leafy brink,
The deer, unfrightened, stoops to drink.

Myriads of man's time-measured race
Have vanished from the earth,
Nor left a memory of their trace,
Since first this scene had birth;
These waters, thundering now along,
Joined in Creation's matin-song;
And only by their dial-trees
Have known the lapse of centuries!

* * * * *

=_Laura M.H. Thurston, 1812-1842._= (Manual, P. 524.)

=_387._= LINES ON CROSSING THE ALLEGHANIES.

I hail thee, Valley of the West,
For what thou yet shalt be!
I hail thee for the hopes that rest
Upon thy destiny!
Here from this mountain height, I see
Thy bright waves floating rapidly,
Thine emerald fields outspread;
And feel that in the book of fame,
Proudly shall thy recorded name
In later days be read.

Oh! brightly, brightly glow thy skies
In Summer's sunny hours!
The green earth seems a paradise
Arrayed in summer flowers!
But oh! there is a land afar,
Whose skies to me all brighter are,
Along the Atlantic shore!
For eyes beneath their radiant shrine
In kindlier glances answered mine:
Can these their light restore?

Upon the lofty bound I stand,
That parts the East and West;
Before me lies a fairy land;
Behind--_a home of rest!_
_Here_, Hope her wild enchantment flings,
Portrays all bright and lovely things,
My footsteps to allure--
But _there_, in memory's light I see
All that was once most dear to me--
My young heart's cynosure!

* * * * *

=_Francis S. Osgood, 1812-1850_= (Manual, p. 523.)

=_388._= "The Parting."

I looked not, I sighed not, I dared not betray
The wild storm of feeling that strove to have way,
For I knew that each sign of the sorrow _I_ felt
_Her_ soul to fresh pity and passion would melt,
And calm was my voice, and averted my eyes,
As I parted from all that in being I prize.

I pined but one moment that form to enfold.
Yet the hand that touched hers, like the marble was cold,--
I heard her voice falter a timid farewell,
Nor tremb