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HANNAH F. GOULD.

[Born about 1792.]

MISS GOULD is a native of Lancaster, in Vermont, and was born, I believe, in 1792. Her father, who was a soldier in the revolutionary army, one of the "noble few" who fought at Lexington,-removed, during her youth, to Newburyport, near Boston; and the greater portion of her life has been passed in that pleasant town. She began to write about twenty years ago, and her poems have appeared in various periodicals

since that time. They have also been collected and published in three duodecimo volumes.

Among American poets of the second class, Miss GOULD has a high rank. Without much force of imagination, delicacy of fancy, or affluence of language, she has acquired popularity by the purity of her thoughts, and the deep moral and religious feeling she infuses into her composi tions.

CHANGES ON THE DEEP.

A GALLANT ship! and trim and tight,
Across the deep she speeds away,
While mantled with the golden light

The sun throws back, at close of day.
And who, that sees that stately ship
Her haughty stem in ocean dip,
Has ever seen a prouder one
Illumined by a setting sun?

The breath of summer, sweet and soft,
Her canvass swells, while, wide and fair,
And floating from her mast aloft,

Her flag plays off on gentle air.
And, as her steady prow divides
The waters to her even sides,
She passes, like a bird, between
The peaceful deep and sky serene.
And now grave twilight's tender veil

The moon, with shafts of silver, rends; And down on billow, deck, and sail

Her placid lustre gently sends.
The stars, as if the arch of blue
Were pierced to let the glory through,
From their bright world look out and win
The thoughts of man to enter in.

And many a heart that's warm and true
That noble ship bears on with pride;
While mid the many forms, are two
Of passing beauty, side by side.
A fair young mother standing by
Her bosom's lord, has fix'd her eye,
With his, upon the blessed star
That points them to their home afar.

Their thoughts fly forth to those, who there
Are waiting now, with joy to hail
The moment that shall grant their prayer,

And heave in sight their coming sail.
For, many a time the changeful queen
Of night has vanish'd, and been seen,
Since, o'er a foreign shore to roam,
They passed from that dear, native home.

The babe, that on its father's breast
Has let its little eyelids close,
The mother bears below to rest,

And sinks with it in sweet repose.
The while a sailor climbs the shroud,
And in the distance spies a cloud :
Low, like a swelling seed, it lies,
From which the towering storm shall rise.

The powers of air are now about

To muster from their hidden caves; The winds, unchain'd, come rushing out, And into mountains heap the waves. Upon the sky the darkness spreads! The tempest on the ocean treads; And yawning caverns are its track Amid the waters wild and black.

Its voice-but who shall give the sounds
Of that dread voice?-The ship is dash'd
In roaring depths-and now, she bounds

On high, by foaming surges lash'd.
And how is she the storm to bide!
Its sweeping wings are strong and wide!
The hand of man has lost control
O'er her!-his work is for the soul!

She's in a scene of nature's war:

The winds and waters are at strife;
And both with her contending for

The brittle thread of human life
That she contains; while sail and shroud
Have yielded; and her head is bow'd.
Then, who that slender thread shall keep,
But He, whose finger moves the deep?

A moment-and the angry blast

Has done its work and hurried on.
With parted cables, shiver'd mast;
With riven sides, and anchor gone,
Behold the ship in ruin lie;

While from the waves a piercing cry
Surmounts the tumult high and wild,
And shouts to heaven, " My child! my

child!"

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THE SNOW-FLAKE.

"Now, if I fall, will it be my lot
To be cast in some lone and lowly spot,
To melt, and to sink unseen, or forgot?

And there will my course be ended?"
"T was this a feathery Snow-flake said,
As down through measureless space it stray'd,
Or as, half by dalliance, half-afraid,

It seem'd in mid-air suspended.

"O, no!" said the Earth, "thou shalt not lie
Neglected and lone on my lap to die,
Thou pure and delicate child of the sky!

For thou wilt be safe in my keeping.
But, then, I must give thee a lovelier form-
Thou wilt not be a part of the wintry storm,
But revive, when the sunbeams are yellow and

warm,

And the flowers from my bosom are peeping!

"And then thou shalt have thy choice, to be
Restored in the lily that decks the lea,
In the jessamine-bloom, the anemone,

Or aught of thy spotless whiteness :-
To melt, and be cast in a glittering bead,
With the pearls that the night scatters over the

mead,

In the cup where the bee and the fire-fly feed, Regaining thy dazzling brightness.

"I'll let thee awake from thy transient sleep,
When Viola's mild blue eye shall weep,

In a tremulous tear; or, a diamond, leap
In a drop from the unlock'd fountain;
Or, leaving the valley, the meadow, and heath,
The streamlet, the flowers, and all beneath,
Go up and be wove in the silvery wreath
Encircling the brow of the mountain.

"Or, wouldst thou return to a home in the skies,
To shine in the Iris I'll let thee arise,
And appear in the many and glorious dyes
A pencil of sunbeams is blending!
But true, fair thing, as my name is Earth,
I'll give thee a new and vernal birth,
When thou shalt recover thy primal worth,
And never regret descending!"

"Then I will drop," said the trusting Flake; But, bear it in mind, that the choice I make Is not in the flowers, nor the dew to wake;

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Nor the mist, that shall pass with the morning. For, things of thyself, they will die with thee; But those that are lent from on high, like me, Must rise, and will live, from thy dust set free, To the regions above returning.

"And if true to thy word and just thou art,
Like the spirit that dwells in the holiest heart,
Unsullied by thee, thou wilt let me depart,
And return to my native heaven.
For I would be placed in the beautiful bow,
From time to time, in thy sight to glow;
So thou mayst remember the Flake of Snow,
By the promise that God hath given!"

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THE WINDS.

WE come! we come! and ye feel our might,
As we're hastening on in our boundless flight,
And over the mountains, and over the deep,
Our broad, invisible pinions sweep,
Like the spirit of Liberty, wild and free!
And ye look on our works, and own 't is we;
Ye call us the Winds; but can ye tell
Whither we go, or where we dwell?

Ye mark, as we vary our forms of power,
And fell the forests, or fan the flower,
When the hare-bell moves, and the rush is bent,
When the tower's o'erthrown, and the oak is rent,
As we waft the bark o'er the slumbering wave,
Or hurry its crew to a watery grave;
And ye say it is we! but can ye trace
The wandering winds to their secret place?

And, whether our breath be loud or high,
Or come in a soft and balmy sigh,
Our threatenings fill the soul with fear,
Or our gentle whisperings woo the ear
With music aerial, still, 't is we.

And ye list, and ye look; but what do ye see?
Can ye hush one sound of our voice to peace,
Or waken one note, when our numbers cease?

Our dwelling is in the Almighty's hand;
We come and we go at his command.
Though joy or sorrow may mark our track,
His will is our guide, and we look not back:
And if, in our wrath, ye would turn us away,
Or win us in gentle airs to play,

Then lift up your hearts to him, who binds
Or frees, as he will, the obedient winds.

THE SCAR OF LEXINGTON. WITH cherub smile, the prattling boy, Who on the veteran's breast reclines, Has thrown aside his favourite toy,

And round his tender finger twines Those scatter'd locks, that, with the flight Of fourscore years, are snowy white; And, as a scar arrests his view,

He cries, "Grandpa, what wounded you?" "My child, 't is five-and-fifty years

This very day, this very hour,
Since, from a scene of blood and tears,
Where valour fell by hostile power,
I saw retire the setting sun
Behind the hills of Lexington;
While pale and lifeless on the plain
My brothers lay, for freedom slain!

"And ere that fight, the first that spoke In thunder to our land, was o'er, Amid the clouds of fire and smoke,

I felt my garments wet with gore!
"T is since that dread and wild affray,
That trying, dark, eventful day,
From this calm April eve so far,
I wear upon my cheek the scar.

"When thou to manhood shalt be grown,
And I am gone in dust to sleep,
May freedom's rights be still thine own,
And thou and thine in quiet reap
The unblighted product of the toil,
In which my blood bedew'd the soil!
And, while those fruits thou shalt enjoy,
Bethink thee of this scar, my boy.

"But, should thy country's voice be heard
To bid her children fly to arms,
Gird on thy grandsire's trusty sword;
And, undismay'd by war's alarms,
Remember, on the battle-field,
I made the hand of Gon my shield:
And be thou spared, like me, to tell
What bore thee up, while others fell."

He went to the windows of those who slept, And over each pane, like a fairy, crept; Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepp'd,

By the light of the morn, were seen Most beautiful things; there were flowers and trees; There were bevies of birds, and swarms of bees; There were cities, with temples and towers; and these

All pictured in silver sheen!

But he did one thing that was hardly fair,-
He peep'd in the cupboard, and finding there
That all had forgotten for him to prepare,

"Now, just to set them a-thinking,
I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he,
"This costly pitcher I'll burst in three;
And the glass of water they've left for me
Shall tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking."

THE WINTER BURIAL.

THE deep-toned bell peals long and low,
On the keen, mid-winter air;
A sorrowing train moves sad and slow,
From the solemn place of prayer.

The earth is in a winding-sheet,

And nature wrapp'd in gloom,

Cold, cold the path which the mourners' feet Pursue to the waiting tomb.

They follow one, who calmly goes

From her own loved mansion-door,

Nor shrinks from the way through gather'd snows,
To return to her home no more.

A sable line, to the drift-crown'd hill,
The narrow pass they wind;
And here, where all is drear and chill,
Their friend they leave behind.

The silent grave they're bending o'er,
A long farewell to take;

One last, last look, and then, no more
Till the dead shall all awake!

THE FROST.

THE Frost look'd forth one still, clear night,
And whisper'd, "Now I shall be out of sight;
So, through the valley, and over the height,
In silence I'll take my way.

I will not go on like that blustering train-
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
Who make so much bustle and noise in vain;
But I'll be as busy as they."

Then he flew to the mountain, and powder'd its

crest;

He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dress'd

In diamond beads; and over the breast

Of the quivering lake he spread

A coat of mail, that it need not fear
The downward point of many a spear,
That he hung on its margin, far and near,
Where a rock could rear its head.

THE ROBE.

"T was not the robe of state

Which the high and the haughty wear, That my busy hand, as the lamp burn'd late, Was hastening to prepare.

It had no clasp of gold, No diamond's dazzling blaze, For the festive board; nor the graceful fold To float in the dance's maze.

"T was not to wrap the breast
With gladness light and warm;
For the bride's attire-for the joyous guest,
Nor to clothe the sufferer's form.

"T was not the garb of wo
We wear o'er an aching heart,
When our eyes with bitter tears o'erflow,
And our dearest ones depart.

'Twas what we all must bear
To the cold, the lonely bed!
"T was the spotless uniform they wear
In the chambers of the dead!

I saw a fair, young maid
In the snowy vesture dress'd;
So pure, she look'd as one array'd
For the mansions of the bless'd.

A smile had left its trace
On her lip at the parting breath,
And the beauty in that lovely face
Was fix'd with the seal of death!

THE CONSIGNMENT.

FIRE, my hand is on the key,
And the cabinet must ope!
I shall now consign to thee
Things of grief, of joy, of hope.
Treasured secrets of the heart

To thy care I hence intrust:
Not a word must thou impart,

But reduce them all to dust.

This-in childhood's rosy morn,
This was gaily fill'd and sent.
Childhood is forever gone;

Here-devouring element.
This was friendship's cherish'd pledge;
Friendship took a colder form:
Creeping on its gilded edge,

May the blaze be bright and warm!

These the letter and the token,

Never more shall meet my view! When the faith has once been broken, Let the memory perish too! This 't was penn'd while purest joy Warm'd the heart, and lit the eye: Fate that peace did soon destroy,

And its transcript now will I!

This must go! for, on the seal

When I broke the solemn yew, Keener was the pang than steel;

"T was a heart-string breaking too! Here comes up the blotted leaf,

Blister'd o'er by many a tear. Hence! thou waking shade of grief! Go, forever disappear!

This is his, who seem'd to be

High as heaven, and fair as light: But the visor rose, and he

Spare, O memory, spare the sight
Of the face that frown'd beneath,

While I take it, hand and name,
And entwine it with a wreath
Of the purifying flame!

These-the hand is in the grave,

And the soul is in the skies,

Whence they came! "Tis pain to save Cold remains of sunder'd ties!

Go together, all, and burn,

Once the treasures of my heart!
Still, my breast shall be an urn
To preserve your better part!

THE MIDNIGHT MAIL.

"T is midnight-all is peace profound! But, lo! upon the murmuring ground, The lonely, swelling, hurrying sound

Of distant wheels is heard!

They come-they pause a moment—when,
Their charge resign'd, they start, and then
Are gone, and all is hush'd again,
As not a leaf had stirr'd.

Hast thou a parent far away,
A beauteous child, to be thy stay
In life's decline-or sisters, they
Who shared thine infant glee?
A brother on a foreign shore?
Is he whose breast thy token bore,
Or are thy treasures wandering o'er
A wide, tumultuous sea?

If aught like these, then thou must feel The rattling of that reckless wheel, That brings the bright, or boding seal,

On every trembling thread That strings thy heart, till morn appears, To crown thy hopes, or end thy fears, To light thy smile, or draw thy tears, As line on line is read.

Perhaps thy treasure's in the deep,
Thy lover in a dreamless sleep,
Thy brother where thou canst not weep
Upon his distant grave!

Thy parent's hoary head no more
May shed a silver lustre o'er
His children group'd,-nor death restore
Thy son from out the wave!

Thy prattler's tongue, perhaps, is still'd,
Thy sister's lip is pale and chill'd,
Thy blooming bride, perchance, has fill'd
Her corner of the tomb.

May be, the home where all thy sweet
And tender recollections meet,
Has shown its flaming winding-sheet
In midnight's awful gloom!

And while, alternate, o'er my soul
Those cold or burning wheels will roll
Their chill or heat, beyond control,

Till morn shall bring relief,
Father in heaven, whate'er may be
The cup, which thou has sent for me,
I know 't is good, prepared by Thee,
Though fill'd with joy or grief!

THE SHIP IS READY.

FARE thee well! the ship is ready,
And the breeze is fresh and steady.
Hands are fast the anchor weighing;
High in air the streamer's playing.
Spread the sails-the waves are swelling
Proudly round thy buoyant dwelling.
Fare thee well! and when at sea,
Think of those who sigh for thee.

When from land and home receding,
And from hearts that ache to bleeding,
Think of those behind, who love thee,
While the sun is bright above thee!
Then, as, down to ocean glancing,
In the waves his rays are dancing,
Think how long the night will be
To the eyes that weep for thee.

When the lonely night-watch keeping,
All below thee still and sleeping,-
As the needle points the quarter
O'er the wide and trackless water,
Let thy vigils ever find thee
Mindful of the friends behind thee!
Let thy bosom's magnet be
Turn'd to those who wake for thee!

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