And what though the vision of happiness flies From the heart that had cherished it fondly before? Its flowers may be withered, but memory supplies Their vigor, and, fragrance, and beauty once more. Oh! may my remembrances never depart! May I still feel a bliss in beholding the past- KINDRED SPIRITS. DROPS from the ocean of eternity, Rays from the centre of unfailing light, Are spirits, yet they dwell near human sight! To no false earthly fire be reconciled,— CAROLINE BOWLES. "ALL high poetry must be religious," says Professor Wilson. And who that is conscious of possessing a soul which longs for immortality, but feels the truth of this doctrine? There is an aspiration in every mind for something higher, better, lovelier than can be found on earth; and it is the holiest office of poesy to embody in language these vague yearnings for happiness and purity, and paint, on the dark and torn canvass of human life, transparent and glowing pictures of heavenly beauty and tranquillity. Few writers have done this with more effect than Miss Bowles. There is a sincerity, a devotedness, ay, and an enjoyment too, in her religious musings, which shows that Christian feeling has elevated the poetic sentiment in her heart till she can sing of the "better land” with the sure and sweet conviction of its reality and blessedness.-Would that we had room for a larger number of extracts from this poetess, as her effusions are not as well known in our country as they deserve to be. Her volume entitled "Solitary Hours" has never been reprinted here. And it is only through the annuals and periodicals that, occasionally, a strain of hers is wafted across the Atlantic. But every true sister of the lyre feels a companionship with Caroline Bowles. And she is a model to which we delight to direct the attention of our young ladies. As the myr tle is all beautiful, leaf, flower and tree, so is her poetry all worthy of our admiration and esteem. In private life Miss Bowles is the Christian lady, doing good and communicating happiness in her domestic pursuits as well as by her literary talent. She is sister of the Rev. William Lisle Bowles, and in genius, as well as in its direction to subjects of devout and benevolent character, their tastes and minds harmonize, like the music from instruments tuned by the same hand. THERE IS A TONGUE IN EVERY LEAF. THERE is a tongue in every leaf A voice in every rill; A voice that speaketh everywhere In flood and fire, through earth and air— "Tis the Great Spirit wide diffused I see Him in the blazing sun, I see Him, hear Him everywhere,— Silence and sound-but most of all, I feel Him in the silent dews, The soft south wind, the breath of flowers, And yet (ungrateful that I am!) From all these things, whereof He said, My sadness on the loveliest things The darkness that encompassed me, The gloom I felt so palpably, My own dark spirit threw. Yet He was patient-slow to wrath, By selfish, pining discontent, And still the same rich feast was spread For my insensate heart! Not always so I woke again, To join Creation's rapturous strain, "Oh Lord, how good thou art!" The clouds drew up-the shadows fled; And love, and hope, and gratitude ABJURATION. THERE was a time-sweet time of youthful folly!- Wooing the veiled phantom Melancholy, And like a lover-like a jealous lover- (Lest vulgar eyes her sweetness should discover,) Close in the inmost chambers of mine heart. And there I sought her-oft in secret sought her, From merry mates withdrawn, and mirthful play---To wear away, by some deep, stilly water, In greenwood lone, the live-long summer day; Watching the flitting clouds, the fading flowers, And then, mine idle tears (ah, silly maiden!) Heaved the light heart, that knew no real pain. And then, I loved to haunt lone burial-places, Pacing the churchyard earth with noiseless tread; |