The voices which are silent there
Would bid thee clear thy brow;
We have been sad together-
Oh! what shall part us now?

HON. MRS. NORTON.

IDLE WORDS.

I have a high sense of the virtue and dignity of the female character; and would not, by any means, be thought to attribute to the ladies emphatically, the fault here spoken of. But I have remarked it in some of my friends, who, in all but this, were among the loveliest of their sex. In such, the blemish is more distinct and striking, because so strongly contrasted with the superior delicacy and loveliness of their natures.

"MY GOD;" the beauty oft exclaim'd,
With deep impassion'd tone,-
But not in humble prayer she named
The High and holy One!

"T was not upon the bended knee,
With soul upraised to heaven,
Pleading with heartfelt agony,
That she might be forgiven.

"T was not in heavenly strains to raise
To the great Source of good
Her daily offering of praise,
Her song of gratitude.

But in the gay and thoughtless crowd,
And in the festive hall,

'Mid scenes of mirth and mockery proud,
She named the Lord of All.

She call'd upon that awful name,
When laughter loudest rang-
Or when the flush of triumph came-
Or disappointment's pang!

The idlest thing that flattery knew,
The most unmeaning jest,

From those sweet lips profanely drew
Names of the Holiest!

I thought-How sweet that voice would be,
Breathing this prayer to heaven-
"My God, I worship only thee;
O, be my sins forgiven!"

ANON.

TO A SISTER.

YES, dear one, to the envied train
Of those around thy homage pay;
But wilt thou never kindly deign
To think of him that's far away?
Thy form, thine eye, thine angel smile,
For many years I may not see;
But wilt thou not sometimes the while,
My sister dear, remember me?

But not in Fashion's brilliant hall,
Surrounded by the gay and fair,
And thou the fairest of them all,-

O, think not, think not of me there.
But when the thoughtless crowd is gone,
And hush'd the voice of senseless glee,
And all is silent, still and lone,

And thou art sad, remember me.

Remember me-but, loveliest, ne'er,
When, in his orbit fair and high,
The morning's glowing charioteer
Rides proudly up the blushing sky;

But when the waning moon-beam sleeps
At moon-light on that lonely lea,
And nature's pensive spirit weeps
In all her dews, remember me.

Remember me, I pray-but not
In Flora's gay and blooming hour,
When every brake hath found its note,
And sunshine smiles in every flower;
But when the falling leaf is sear,
And withers sadly from the tree,
And o'er the ruins of the year

Cold Autumn weeps, remember me.

Remember me,-but choose not, dear,
The hour when, on the gentle lake,
The sportive wavelets, blue and clear,
Soft rippling, to the margin break;
But when the deaf'ning billows foam
In madness o'er the pathless sea,
Then let thy pilgrim fancy roam
Across them, and remember me.

Remember me-but not to join

If haply some thy friends should praise; "Tis far too dear, that voice of thine

To echo what the stranger says. They know us not-but shouldst thou meet Some faithful friend of me and thee,

Softly, sometimes, to him repeat

My name, and then remember me.

Remember me-not, I entreat,

In scenes of festal week-day joy, For then it were not kind or meet,

The thought thy pleasure should alloy;

But on the sacred, solemn day,

And, dearest, on thy bended knee, When thou for those thou lov'st dost pray, Sweet spirit, then remember me.

Remember me-but not as I
On thee for ever, ever dwell,
With anxious heart and drooping eye,

And doubts 't would grieve thee should I tell; But in thy calm unclouded heart,

Where dark and gloomy visions flee,

Oh there, my sister, be my part,

And kindly there remember me,

EDWARD EVERETT.

THE WRECK.

ALL night the booming minute-gun
Had peal'd along the deep,
And mournfully the rising sun
Look'd o'er the tide-worn steep.
A bark from India's coral strand,
Before the rushing blast,
Had vail'd her topsails to the sand,
And bow'd her noble mast.

The queenly ship! brave hearts had striven,
And true ones died with her!

We saw her mighty cable riven,

Like floating gossamer;

We saw her proud flag struck that mòrn,
A star once o'er the seas,

Her helm beat down, her deck uptorn,
And sadder things than these.

We saw her treasures cast away;
The rocks with pearl were strown:
And, strangely sad, the ruby's ray
Flash'd out o'er fretted stone;

And gold was strewn the wet sands o'er,
Like ashes by a breeze,

And gorgeous robes-but, oh! that shore
Had sadder sights than these!

We saw the strong man, still and low,

A crush'd reed thrown aside! Yet, by that rigid lip and brow,

Not without strife he died!

And near him on the sea-weed lay,
Till then we had not wept,

But well our gushing hearts might say,
That there a mother slept!

For her pale arms a babe had press'd
With such a wreathing grasp,
Billows had dash'd o'er that fond breast,
Yet not undone the clasp.

Her very tresses had been flung

To wrap the fair child's form,

Where still their wet, long streamers clung, All tangled by the storm.

And beautiful, 'midst that wild scene,
Gleam'd up the boy's dead face,
Like slumbers, trustingly serene,
In melancholy grace.

Deep in her bosom lay his head,
With half-shut violet eye;

He had known little of her dread,
Naught of her agony !

Oh, human love! whose yearning heart,
Through all things vainly true,

So stamps upon thy mortal part

Its passionate adieu!

Surely thou hast another lot,

There is some home for thee,

Where thou shalt rest, remembering not

The moaning of the sea!

MRS. HEMANS.