Will make her weep for sadness, But straight she'll smile again. And lately she hath pressed the couch of pain: And on her tender spirit lain, And brought her near to die. But like the flower That droops at evening hour Her soft cheek is adorning. Hushed was her childish lay: Like some sweet bird did sickness hold her in a net; And when she broke away, And shook her wings in the bright day, Her recent capture she did quite forget. THE WHIPPOOR WILL. THE shades of eve are gathering slowly round, Faintly is heard the whispering mountain breeze; No more the woodman's axe is heard to fall: Alas! enough before my heart was sad, Sweet bird! thou mak'st it sadder, sadder still. Enough of mourning has my spirit had; I would not hear thee mourn, poor Whippoorwill. Thoughts of my distant home upon me press, Touched with that plaintive burthen Whippoorwill" Sing to the village lass, whose happy home Loved ones! my children! ah they cannot hear My voice that calls to them. An answer shrill, A shrill, unconscious answer rises near, - Another name my lips would breathe; — but then Back to my sorrowing breast it sinks again! Hush, or thou'lt break my heart, sad Whippoorwill. LINES. They remembered their Creator in the days of their youth." I SAW, and blessed them! From amid the crowd I blessed them in the silence of my heart: A troubled spirit fluttered there, and brought, With a sweet tumult, tears into my eyes. Up to God's temple, three fair boys had come, And in the glow of young devotion stood, And a pure faith, to give themselves to Him. Their white robes flowed around them, and their step Was firm as if they knew they trod upon The Rock of Ages. To the altar first, Came one with brow upraised, and look intent, The innocent look of childhood blending with At early morn, touched with the sun's warm ray ! So shall ye see the beauty of the Lord. TO A YOUNG MOTHER. BELINDA! The young blossom that doth lie These, if so cherished, shall thy blossom bear, And with the dews of heavenly love impearled, It shall adorn thee in another world. SARAH LOUISA P. SMITH. It is a melancholy pleasure to gather up the memorials of departed genius and worth; and we linger over the song of one who passed away in her bloom and brightness from earth, as though it were a holy strain, because the sweet lyrist was so near "The world of peace, of joy, and perfect love." Mrs. Smith, formerly Miss Hickman, was born June, 1811, and died February, 1832, in the 21st year of her age. Her maternal ancestors resided many years at Newton, near Boston; but Louisa was born at Detroit, while her grandfather, Major-general William Hull was governor of that territory. Mrs. Hickman returned to Newton when Louisa was in her infancy, and there devoted herself to the education of her two daughters. The uncommon quickness of talent exhibited by Louisa, soon attracted attention from her instructers. She had a most wonderful memory, and gathered knowledge without any apparent effort—yet was she ever among the most active in mental pursuits. And the ease with which she acquired information was not more remarkable than the modesty which accompanied her · superiority. She began to write when a mere child, and these juvenile productions were often so excellent, as to elicit great commendations from her family and their con |