Yet it is not that age on my years hath descended —
"Tis not that its snow-wreaths encircle my brow;
But the newness and sweetness of Being are ended —
I feel not their love-kindling witchery now:
The shadows of death o'er my path have been sweeping.
There are those who have loved me, debarred from the day;
The green turf is bright where in peace they are sleeping,
And on wings of remembrance my soul is away.

It is shut to the glow of this present existence -
It hears, from the past, a funereal strain;

And it eagerly turns to the high-seeming distance,
Where the last blooms of earth will be garnered again;
Where no mildew the soft, damask-rose cheek shall nourish —
Where Grief bears no longer the poisonous sting;
Where pitiless Death no dark sceptre can flourish,
Or stain with his blight the luxuriant spring.

It is thus, that the hopes, which to others are given,
Fall cold on my heart in this rich month of May;
I hear the clear anthems that ring through the heaven
I drink the bland airs that enliven the day;
And if gentle Nature, her festival keeping,

Delights not my bosom, ah! do not condemn;
O'er the lost and the lovely my spirit is weeping,

For my heart's fondest raptures are buried with them.

ON READING VIRGIL.

BY MRS. ANN E. BLEECKER.

Written in 1778.

Now cease these tears, lay gentle Virgil by,
Let recent sorrows dim thy pausing eye;
Shall Æneas for lost Creusa mourn,
And tears be wanting on Abella's urn?
Like him, I lost my fair one in my flight
From cruel foes, and in the dead of night.
Shall he lament the fall of Ilion's tow'rs,
And we not mourn the sudden ruin of ours?

See York on fire-while, borne by winds, each flame
Projects its glowing sheet o'er half the main,
The affrighted savage, yelling with amaze,
From Allegany sees the rolling blaze.
Far from these scenes of horror, in the shade
I saw my aged parent safe conveyed;
Then sadly followed to the friendly land
With my surviving infant by the hand:
No cumbrous household gods had I, indeed,
To load my shoulders and my flight impede;
Protection from such impotence who'd claim?
My Gods took care of me not I of them.
The Trojan saw Anchises breathe his last
When all domestic dangers he had passed;
So my lov'd parent, after she had fled,
Lamented, perish'd on a stranger's bed:
- He held his way o'er the Cerulian main,
But I returned to hostile fields again.

THE LAST PRAYER OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.

BY W. G. CLARK.

"O Domini Deus speravi in te,

O caru mi Jesu nunc libera me :
In dura catena, in misera pena,
Desidera te-

Languendo, gemando, et genuflectendo,
Adoro, imploro, ut liberas me !"*

It was the holy twilight hour, when clouds of crimson glide Along the calm blue firmament, hushed in the evening tide; When the peasant's cheerful song was hushed, by every hill

and glen,

When the city's voice stole faintly out, and died the hum of men;

And as Night's sombre shade came down o'er Day's resplen

dant eye,

A faded face, from prison cell, gazed out upon the sky;
For to that face the glad, bright sun of earth for aye had set,
And the last time had come, to mark eve's starry coronet.

Oh, who can paint the bitter thoughts that o'er her spirit stole,
As her pale lips gave utterance to feeling's deep controul--
When shadowed from life's vista back, throng'd 'mid her

bursting tears,

The phantasies of early hope-dreams of departed years; When Pleasure's light was sprinkled, and silver voices flung Their rich and echoing cadences her virgin hours amongWhen there came no shadow o'er her brow, no tear to dim her eye,

When there frown'd no cloud of sorrow in her being's festal sky.

* These lines, so musical in the original, and susceptible of equally melodious translation, were penned by the unfortunate Mary a few hours before her execution.

THE LAST PRAYER OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 157

Perchance at that lone hour the thought of early visions

came,

Of the trance that touched her lip with song at Love's mysterious flame;

When she listened to the low-breathed tones of him the idol

one,

Who shone in her mind's imagings first ray of pleasure's sun; Perchance the walk in evening's hour, the impassion'd kiss and vow

The warm tear kindling on the cheek, the smile upon the brow:

But they came like flowers that wither, and the light of all

had fled,

Like a hue from April's pinion o'er earth's budding bosom

shed.

And thus as star came after star into the boundless heaven, Were her free thoughts and eloquent in pensive numbers

given;

They were the offerings of a heart where grief had long held

sway,

And now the night, the hour had come, to give her feelings

way;

It was the last dim night of life-the sun had sunk to rest, And the blue twilight haze had crept on the far mountain's

breast;

And thus, as in her saddened heart the tide of love grew

strong,

Poured her meek, quiet spirit forth this flood of mournful

song:

"The shades of evening gather now o'er the mysterious earth, The viewless winds are whispering their strains of breezy

mirth;

The yellow moon hath come to shed a flood of glory round On the silence of this calm repose, the beauty of the ground;

158

THE LAST PRAYER OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.

And in the free, sweet gales that sweep along my prison

bar,

Seem borne the soft, deep harmonies of every kindly star;
I see the blue streams dancing in the mild and chastened

light,

And the gem-lit fleecy clouds that steal along the brow of

night.

“Oh, must I leave existence now, while life is in its spring— While Joy should cheer my pilgrimage with gladness from his wing?

Are the songs of Hope for ever flown?-the syren voice which

flung

The chant of Youth's warm happiness from the beguiler's

tongue ?

Shall I drink no more the melody of babbling stream or

bird,

Or the scented gales of Summer, when the leaves of June are stirred?

Shall the pulse of love wax fainter, and the spirit shrink from death,

As the bud-like thoughts which lit my heart fade in its chilling breath?

"I have passed the dreams of childhood, and my loves and hopes are gone,

And I turn to Thee, Redeemer, oh, thou blest and holy

one !

Though the rose of health has vanished, and the mandate hath been spoken,

And one by one the golden links of life's fond chain are broken,

Yet can my spirit turn to thee, thou chastener, and can

bend

In humble suppliance at thy feet, my Father and my Friend!