ber, and gazing on all around with a celestial sweetness, she breathed them a last farewell. They raised her from her pillow, but the spirit had departed to that holier cline where sorrow is unknown; although in death the smile had not left her countenance. I stole one of the auburn ringlets, which even in death clustered around her polished brow, and bore it with me to your throne." He laid the gift on her extended hand, and turned away.
Another came.
"I have spent the year," said he, "among the genii of the earth. I watched over a young poet as he toiled night and day to win the laurels awarded to him who was most favored by the muses. His soul seemed to have thrown off the shackles of mortality, and to hold communion with the spirits of the air. And when at last he was victorious, I plucked a laurel from the wreath which encircled his brow, which I now present to you."
Another came.
"I saw," said he, "amid my wanderings, a splendid company entering a church, and hastily joined them. They had assembled to witness the baptism of their infant prince. I hovered over the sacred fount, and when the water was flung from consecrated hands upon the princely brow of him who was in future years to hold dominion over a large and powerful nation, I gathered up the glittering drops and brought them to shine as pearls upon your diadem."
And yet another came.
"I was attracted," said he, "by the sound of the clamor to a field of battle. I watched the contending parties until shouts of joy informed me that the victory was decided. I saw the conquering army leave the field, and attention was paid to many of the wounded, yet one remained unnoticed in the distance. It was not long before a lovely being came, attired in the robe of the sisters of charity. She knelt by the side of the sufferer, and wiped the damps of death from his brow, but his life was fast ebbing away. She placed the crucifix which hung by her side in the hand of the sufferer, who slowly raised it to his lips, while she breathed a fervent prayer, that his spirit might be received by him who gave it. As his last faint sigh breathed on her ear a tear stole down her cheek. I caught the pearly drops and bore it to your throne."
At last the most beautiful of all the fairies came before her, and it was evident from the pleasure that glistened in her eye, that his gift would be acceptable to her. "You are aware," said he, "that I have been before this banished from your presence in search of adventure. I was also present amid scenes of warfare. I watched the patriots of injured, oppressed Poland, as they sacrificed their lives and fortunes on the altar of liberty. After one desperate conflict, I saw the leader of the patriot band as he lay expiring on the field of battle. A lovely form hung over him, bearing an infant in her arms, their loved and only child. He turned his glazing eye to heaven, and said in a feeble voice, 'Oh thou father of the fatherless guide and guard these loved ones through this changing world.' Then turning to her he said, 'Farewell till we meet again in that blest world where the chains of the oppressor are broken and the oppressed go free.' Even in this afflictive moment the husband and father were lost in the patriot, for his last breath was spent in prayer that Poland might be free, and I caught the last drop of that heart's blood which had been so nobly spent. By magic power I changed it to a brilliant gem which I present to you." She extended her hand to him, and suffered him to lead her to their loveliest bower, while all burst forth in strains more gladsome than before, to welcome the united sovereigns of the fairy realm. EMMA.
Yonker's Female Seminary, 1841.
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Song of the Hours.
We have come from the land of the viewless things.
Pilgrims to earth on our rainbow wings:
Oh! would you aught of our being know,
From whence we journey, whither we go,
Mortal! seek all things that vanish soon,
Dew drops that flee ere the blaze of noon:
The meteor darting so bright and free,
The waves that curl o'er the dark blue sea
A sunbeam dancing above the stream,
Visions, which float o'er a feverish dream:
The lightning's flash, ere the storm-cloud lowers:
—Such, and so fleet are the changing hours.
Some of us vestured in light, pursue
The mystic path that no eye may view:
Some robed in the ever-changing dyes
That float at even o'er summer skies:
And some in a grey and misty veil
Glide silently on in the starlight pale.
Through the quiet night, through the glare of day,
Still on we follow, and make no stay:
Ye chide our lingering: ye wish us slow,
But heedless, weariless, on we go.
Oh! many a sigh from earth's fairest bowers,
Is borne on the wings of the passing hours.
Ye of the pure heart, and voice of song,
Whose stainless hands were not formed for wrong.
Of the shadowless brow, and the laughing eye,
Ye hail us in joyfulness, as we fly.
But some there are, and to them we bear
Dark thoughts of the past, of the future, despair:
To whom every plume in each drooping wing,
Is a shaft more deadly than scorpion's sting!
Yet countless blessings we love to shed
In fragrance over the guiltless head:
And to some more sweet than the breath of flowers,
Are the memories left by the fleeting hours.
H P.
