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150

THE SNOW-FLAKE.

And let me too, sweet May !
Let thy fond votary see
As fade thy beauties, all the vanity

Of this world's pomp, then teach, that though decay In his short winter, bury beauty's frame,

In fairer worlds the soul shall break his sway, Another spring shall bloom eternal and the same.

THE SNOW-FLAKE

BY HANNAH F. GOULD.

“Now, if I fall, will it be my lot
To be cast in some lone, and lowly spot,
To melt, and to sink unseen, or forgot?

And there will my course be ended ?"
'Twas this a feathery Snow-Flake said,
As down through measureless space it strayed,
Or, as half by dalliance, half afraid,

It seemed in mid air suspended.

“Oh! no,” said the Earth, “ thou shalt not lie
Neglected and lone on my lap to die,
Thou pure and delicate child of the sky!

For thou wilt be safe in my keeping.

THE SNOW-FLAKE.

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But then, I must give thee a lovelier form-
Thou wilt not be part of the wintry storm,
But revive, when the sunbeams are yellow and warm,

And the flowers from my bosom are peeping !

" And then thou shalt have thy choice, to be
Restored in the lily, that decks the lea,
In the jessamine-bloom, the anemone,

Or aught of thy spotless whiteness :-
To melt, and be cast in a glittering bead,
With the pearls, that the night scatters over the mead,
In the cup where the bee and the fire-fly feed,

Regaining thy dazzling brightness.

shall weep,

“ I'll let thee awake from thy transient sleep,
When Viola's mild blue eye
In a tremulous tear; or, a diamond, leap

In a drop from the unlocked fountain :
Or, leaving the valley, the meadow and heath,
The streamlet, the flowers and all beneath,
Go up and be wove in the silvery wreath

Encircling the brow of the mountain.

“ Or, wouldst thou return to a home in the skies !
To shine in the Iris I'll let thee arise,
And appear in the many and glorious dyes

A pencil of sunbeams is blending !

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THE SNOW-FLAKE.

But true, fair thing, as my name is Earth,
I'll give thee a new and vernal birth,
When thou shalt recover thy primal worth,

And never regret descending !"

“ Then I will drop," said the trusting Flake; “But, bear it in mind, that the choice I make Is not in the flowers, nor the dew to wake;

Nor the mist that shall pass with the morning. For, things of thyself, they will die with thee; But those that are lent from on high, like me, Must rise, and will live, from thy dust set free,

To the regions above returning.

“ And if true to thy word and just thou art, Like the spirit that dwells in the holiest heart, Unsullied by thee, thou wilt let me depart

And return to my native heaven. For I would be placed in the beautiful Bow, From time to time, in thy sight to glow; So thou may'st remember the Flake of Snow,

By the promise that God hath given!"

SERENADE.

BY C. DONALD MCLEOD.

The singing birds have chorused

The day-star to the sea; The echoes of the forest

Are slumbering silently; The vesper bell is telling

Thine hour for wandering forth ;
Its welcome tones are swelling
Across the star-lit earth.
And as my cithern's breathing notes

Are wafted up to thee,
My spirit on their music floats,

Ma mignonne Eulalie !

The lengthening shades will hide us,

And 'neath their influence sweet, The cold hearts that would chide us,

Sleep-careless that we meetThe spirit-stars are placing

Their gem-lights in the sky;
They wait our first embracing,
To bless us from on high.
Then while the dreamy spell of night

Still rests on earth and sea,
Arise ! oh star of my delight,

Ma mignonne Eulalie !.

BROTHER, COME HOME.

BY CATHARINE H. WATERMAN.

COME home,
Would I could send my spirit o'er the deep,

Would I could wing it like a bird to thee,
To commune with thy thoughts, to fill thy sleep
With these unwearying words of melody;

Brother, come home.

Come home,
Come to the hearts that love thee, to the eyes

That beam in brightness but to gladden thine, Come where fond thoughts, like holiest incense rise, Where cherished memory rears her altar's shrine;

Brother, come home.

Come home,
Come to the hearth-stone of thy earlier days,

Come to the ark, like the o'er-wearied dove,

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