their astonishment knew no limits, when they saw her gradually ascend from the earth into the air, where she disappeared, as if borne upward by the evening wind. And then it was that they discovered her clasped in the embraces of the Moon, for they knew that the spots, which they saw within the circle of that planet, were those of her robe, which she had made from the skins of the spotted fawn. Many summers have passed away since the Sweet Strawberry became the Maiden of the Moon, yet among all the people of one nation, is she ever remembered for her beauty, and the mystery of her being. A VALENTINE. MRS. E. F. ELLET. When Memnon's silent form the god of day, Touched at his rising with his glance of fire, A music as from harps that seraphs play Thrilled soft and golden from that silent lyre. All cold-the fable says-Pygmalion's stone, Till clasped the statue to the artist breastAnd life's warm current, pouring from his own. Wakened the statue from its soulless rest! Thus dull and cold my heart-till inspiration, Sweet lady, from your radiant smile it drew; Ah, list the music of its low vibration It murmurs but one song-and sings of you! WAY-MARKS." SAMUEL D. PATTERSON I. Youth, with sunbeams glowing o'er thee, To the opening years before thee, II. In the fulness of thy pleasure, From the earth, and air and sky: 1. "Set thee up way-marks."-Jeremiah xxxi. 21. III. Pause-and to a softer measure, IV. Vigorous manhood-great in power, Of fierce conflict draweth nigh— When around thee trials throng, Meeteth them with lofty bearing, Proud resolve, and courage strong: Turn thy soul to Him who sent thee Aid to gain the conqueror's part. Every attribute that Great and noble, He bestows: Every glorious thought that moves thee, From His boundless wisdom flows. VI. Aged one- —whose accents broken, O'er the turf that shrouds thy clay. VII. Like the Patriarch's, long and weary Memory only can discover Transient joy 'mid frequent tears. VIII. Now, that nature worn and wasted, And the pleasure thou hast tasted, And the piercing grief thou'st known— Soon no thrill or pang shall waken In thy bosom cold and dead, Whence, th' enfranchised spirit, breaking From the mortal clay, is fled. |