1850-60.] MARY A. FOSTER. 451 Green are the woods and green the grace- ful grasses, Yet shrinking at the midday's burning face, But when the night dew o'er the dry earth passes, Reviving with a new and sparkling grace. The many-tinted butterfly betimes Bestirs himself, upon bright easy wing, And wantons gaily with the flowers and vines Sucking their sweetness with an amor- ous cling. And here and there, about the forest flit- ting. Their colors glancing in the falling rays. Or on the lightsome boughs, in love pairs sitting. The brilliant birds rejoice in summer days. But who are they upon the hill-side steal- ings With steps so slow, and pauses oft and long. Resting anon, while through the trees re- vealing The sun just lights their bended heads upon? And rests upon the maiden's waving hair, And shines upon her white and tiny hand As up she raises it, with pretext fair. To ask or answer to some fond demand. Summer upon the earth and with the maiden, For she beloved was and she dearly loved. And with its wealth of joy all richly laden, Her heart gave out the blossom and the bud. Summer upon the hills and through the valleys ! Summer upon the mountains and the streams ! See how the glad bird on the pine-top ral- lies. And never of the chilly winter dreams. He sings of love in gayest, gladdest mea- sure, "While mute, the lovers listen in delight. Then whisper in a rapt and silent pleasure, " Summer is here — no winter and no night!" THE BATTLE-FIELD OF TRUTH. Be true, be strong, the battle rings around. The forms of fallen warriors strew the ground ; Martyrs and victors, slain, but not to die, They give to us the noble rallying cry. Be true to death and more. No fiery charger shakes the quivering sod, The marshaled forces are the soul and God; Nature and right 'gainst error fierce at bay, The powers immortal yield not but delay — Eternal Truth can wait. No bannered host does mighty Truth dis- play, No armies drawn in serried strong array ; But solitary warriors with her shield And shining sword, made ready for the field; These, and no more. Thus to the field against the phalanx strong. Error's great army drawn in columns long,
