THE SMILE OF INNOCENCE.

BY L. M. DAVIDSON.

THERE is a smile of bitter scorn,

Which curls the lip, which lights the eye;

There is a smile in beauty's morn

Just rising o'er the midnight sky.

There is a smile of youthful joy,

When hope's bright star's the transient guest; There is a smile of placid age,

Like sunset on the billow's breast.

There is a smile, the maniac's smile,

Which lights the void which reason leaves, And, like the sunshine through a cloud, Throws shadows o'er the song she weaves.

There is a smile of love, of hope,

Which shines a meteor through life's gloom; And there's a smile, Religion's smile, Which lights the weary to the tomb.

There is a smile, an angel smile,

That sainted souls behind them leave; There is a smile which shines through toil, And warms the bosom, though in grief.

THE SMILE OF INNOCENCE.

And there's a smile on nature's face

When evening spreads her shades around;

It is a smile which angels might
Upon their brightest lists enrol.

It is the smile of innocence,

Of sleeping infancy's light dream;
Like lightning on a summer's eve,
It sheds a soft, a pensive gleam.

175

MEMORY.

BY W. G. CLARK.

'Tis sweet, to remember! I would not forego

The charm which the Past o'er the Present can throw, For all the gay visions that Fancy may weave

In her web of illusion, that shines to deceive.

We know not the future,-the past we have felt, -
Its cherished enjoyments the bosom can melt;
Its raptures anew o'er our pulses may roll,
When thoughts of the morrow fall cold on the soul.

'Tis sweet, to remember! When storms are abroad,
We see in the rainbow, the promise of God:
The day may be darkened,—but far in the west,
In vermilion and gold, sinks the sun to his rest;
With smiles like the morning he passeth away:"
Thus the beams of delight on the spirit can play,
When in calm reminiscence we gather the flowers,
Which Love scattered round us in happier hours.

"Tis sweet to remember! When friends are unkind, When their coldness and carelessness shadow the mind:

Then, to draw back the veil which envelopes a land,
Where delectable prospects in beauty expand;
To smell the green fields,—the fresh waters to hear,
Whose once fairy music enchanted the ear;
To drink in the smiles that delighted us then,-
To list the fond voices of childhood again,—
Oh, this the sad heart, like a reed that is bruised,
Binds up, when the banquet of Hope is refused.

'Tis sweet, to remember! And naught can destroy
The balm-breathing comfort, the glory, the joy,
Which spring from that fountain, to gladden our way,
When the changeful and faithless desert or betray.
I would not forget! — though my thoughts should be dark :
O'er the ocean of life, I look back from my bark,
And I see the lost Eden, where once I was blest,
A type and a promise of heavenly rest.

NEW ENGLAND.

BY J. G. WHITTIER.

LAND of the forest and the rock

Of dark blue lake and mighty river

Of mountains reared aloft to mock

The storm's career, the lightning's shock—
My own green land for ever!

Land of the beautiful and brave—

The freeman's home-the martyr's grave

The nursery of giant men,

Whose deeds have linked with every glen,
And every hill, and every stream,
The romance of some warrior-dream!
Oh! never may a son of thine,
Where'er his wandering steps incline,
Forget the sky which bent above

His childhood like a dream of love-
The stream beneath the green hill flowing-
The broad-armed trees above it growing-
The clear breeze through the foliage blowing;
Or hear, unmoved, the taunt of scorn
Breathed o'er the brave New England born;