1840-50.] REBECCA S. NICHOLS. 299 In this green and blooming island, Cluster sweets of every clime ; All the charms of vale, and highland, Ripening with the breath of Time : Fruits of mellow gold, the brightest, Hang on branches, drooping low ; Birds of song, with plumes the whitest. Drift like snow-flakes to and fro. Wind-harps swing in every blossom, And each viewless, wandering air, Cradled on the Ocean's bosom, Hastes to waken music there : Grasses long, transparent, waving — Mosses, thick with buds inlaid, When my soul repose is craving, Woo me to their velvet shade- Round about, the waves are flowing, Murmuring wonders of the deep — Of the coral forests, growing Where the emerald ivies creep : — Of the lamp-like jewels, shining In the fretted, sea-washed halls, And the rainbow-shells entwining, Garlanding the crystal walls. Many a song like this they've sung me In the old enchanted hours. Ere Life's serpent-woes had stung me. Couched amid love's purple flowers ! Many a song, of wondrous sweetness. Which my heart can ne'er forget. Bearing with their dream-like fleetness. My most passionate regret ! Well I know the luster beaming From those soft and cloudless skies ; Well the odors, faintly teeming With the breath of Paradise : Well I know the rush of feeling Overwhelming heart and brain, And the subtile rapture stealing — Rapture which resembles pain. When or where my youthful spirit Found this sparkling isle of bliss, Which the angels might inherit (With no stint of happiness), I've no power to tell in numbei's. And slight knowledge where to place That which, haunting all my slumbers, No existence has in space ! In the fadeless realms of Fairy, — In Imagination's clime. Where the banners, silken, airy. Float above the walls of time ; There this Poet's Isle may wandei-. Like a planet lost at birth. Till the enamored soul, grown fonder — Meets it midway from the Earth ! LITTLE NELL. Spring, with breezes cool and airy. Opened on a little fairy ; Ever restless, making merry. She, with pouting lips of cherry. Lisped the words she could not master, Vexed that she might speak no faster, — Laughing, running, playing, dancing. Mischief all her joys enhancing ; Full of baby-mirth and glee, It was a joyous sight to see Sweet little Nell. Summer came, the green earth's lover, Ripening the tufted clover — Calling down the glittering showers, Breathing on the buds and flowers : Rivaling young pleasant May, In a generous holiday! Smallest insects hummed a tune, Through the blessed nights of June: And the maiden sung her song. Through the days so bright and long — Dear little Nell.
