SARAH LOUISA P. SMITH. Sarah Louisa P. Hickman was born at Detroit, on the thirtieth of June, 1811. Her grandfather, Major-General Hull, was then Governor of Michigan. While a mere child Miss Hickman wrote verses which were much admired. Having acconi- panied her mother to the home of her family in Newton, Massachusetts, she was liberally educated. In her eighteenth year she was married to Samuel Jenks Smith, then editor of a periodical in Providence, Rhode Island. Mr. Smith published his wife's poems, in a duodecimo volume of 250 pages, the same year of their marriage. In 1829 Mr. Smith moved to Cincinnati. There Mrs. Smith wrote poems for the Cin- cinnati Gazette, of peculiar gracefulness, upon a variety of themes ; but her health rapidly decUned, and she died, on a visit to New York City, February twelfth, 1832, in the twenty-first year of her age. Her husband was afterward for several years connected with the New York Press. He died while on a voyage to Europe, in 1842. WHITE ROSES. Thet were gathered for a bridal : I knew it by their hue — Fair as the summer moonlight Upon the sleeping dew. From their fair and fairy sisters They were borne, without a sigh. For one remembered evening. To blossom and to die. They were gathered for a bridal, And fastened in a wreath ; But purer were the roses Than the heart that lay beneath ; Yet the beaming eye was lovely. And the coral lip was fair. And the gazer looked and asked not For the secret hidden there. They were gathered for a bridal, Where a thousand torches glistened, Wlien the holy words were spoken. And the false and faithless listened. And answered to the vow. Which another heart had taken : Yet he was present then — The once loved, the forsaken ! They were gathered for a bridal. And now, now they are dying. And young Love at the altar Of broken faith is sighing. Their summer life was stainless. And not hke hers who wore them ; They are faded, and the farewell Of beauty lingers o'er them ! THE OHIO. The moonlight sleeps upon thy shores, Fair river of the west ! And the soft sound of dipping oars Just breaks thy evening rest. (77)
