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The voices which are silent there
Hon. MRS. NORTON.
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 o tures.
“My God;" the beauty oft exclaim'd,
With deep impassion'd tone,
The High and holy One!
'T was not upon the bended knee,
With soul upraised to heaven,
That she might be forgiven.
To the great Source of good
Her song of gratitude.
And in the festive hall,
She named the Lord of All.
She call'd upon that awful name,
When laughter loudest rang-
Or disappointment's pang!
The most unmeaning jest,
Names of the Holiest!
Breathing this prayer to heaven“My God, I worship only thee; O, be my sins forgiven!”
TO A SISTER.
Of those around thy homage pay ;
To think of him that's far away?
For many years I may not see;
My sister dear, remember me?
Surrounded by the gay and fair,
0, think not, think not of me there.
And hush'd the voice of senseless glee,
And thou art sad, remember me.
When, in his orbit fair and high,
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 They know us n
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 membut not as I
On thee for ever, ever dwell,
And doubts 't would grieve thee should I tell;
Where dark and gloomy visions flee,
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.
Before the rushing blast,
And bow'd her noble mast.
The queenly ship! brave hearts had striven,
And true ones died with her!
Like floating gossamer;
A star once o'er the seas,
And sadder things than these.
We saw her treasures cast away ;
The rocks with pearl were strown:
Flash'd out o'er fretted stone;'
Like ashes by a breeze,
Had sadder sights than these!
We saw the strong man, still and low,
A crush'd reed thrown aside!
Not without strife he died !
Till then we had not wept,
That there a mother slept!
For her pale arms a babe had pressid
With such a wreathing grasp,
Yet not undone the clasp.
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,
In melancholy grace..
With half-shut violet eye;
Naught of her agony !
Through all things vainly true,
Its passionate adieu!
There is some home for thee,