THE RAPID.

To those who under cloud of care,
And wintry fortune lie,

Since, all so frail, ye brave the snows
Beneath a leaden sky.

J.

THE RAPID.

ST. LAWRENCE.

ALL peacefully gliding,

The waters dividing,

The indolent batteau moves slowly along,

The rowers, light-hearted,

From sorrow long parted,

Beguiled the dull moments with laughter and song: "Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrily Gambols and leaps on its tortuous way:

Soon we will enter it, cheerily, cheerily,

Pleased with its freshness, and wet with its spray."

More swiftly careering,

The wild Rapid nearing,

They dash down the stream like a terrified steed;
The surges delight them,

No terrors affright them,

Their voices keep pace with their quickening speed: "Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrily

Shivers its arrows against us in play;

Now we have entered it, cheerily, cheerily,

Our spirits as light as its feathery spray."

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Fast downward they're dashing,
Each fearless eye flashing,

Though danger awaits them on every side;
Yon rock-see it frowning!

They strike-they are drowning!

But downward they speed with the merciless tide :
No voice cheers the Rapid, that angrily, angrily
Shivers their bark in its maddening play;
Gaily they entered it-needlessly, recklessly,
Mingling their lives with its treacherous spray !

IN THE FOREST.

I love to see thee flitting
Athwart the green, or sitting
Beneath the spreading tree.

In every dainty curve and line—
In slender limb and head's decline-
I see the grace of Nature;

And when thou stoopest o'er the lake,
Whereon no ripple comes to break
The perfect shadow given;

Ah, then, my heart is full of thanks,
That beauty moves through many ranks,
And makes us dream of heaven;

For thou, sweet creature, meet'st the mood
O'er which the fairest dreams still brood
Of sylvan bliss and glory

In earliest Grecian story:

Art shy, retiring, thinking not

Of thine own charms; thy only thought
Is to fulfil thy nature;

A message good to me hast brought
Thou graceful, winsome creature.

E. C. G.

IN THE FOREST.

THROUGH the proud aisles of old cathedral woods
What echoing voices break the solitudes!
At matin hour go hear, on green hill-side,

Bells of bird-music echoing far and wide,

While mountain streams that burst their prison crags
Run down the rocks and wave their snow-white flags.

J. T. FIELDS.

G

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PART II.

Poems of Description.

GUESTS.

SUNFLOWER tall and hollyhock, that wave in the wind together,

Cornflower, poppy, and marigold, blossoming fair and fine,

Delicate sweet-peas, glowing bright in the quiet autumn weather,

While over the fence, on fire with bloom, climbs the nasturtium vine !

Quaint little wilderness of flowers, straggling hither and thither

Morning-glories tangled about the larkspur gone to seed,!

Scarlet-runners that burst all bounds, and wan

der, heaven knows whither,

And lilac spikes of bergamot, as thick as any weed.

And oh, the bees and the butterflies, and humming-birds and sparrows, That over the garden waver and chirp and flutter the live-long day! Humming-birds, that dart in the sun like green and golden arrows, Butterflies like loosened flowers blown off by the wind in play.

Look at the red nasturtium flower, drooping, bending, and swaying; Out the gold-banded humble-bee breaks and goes booming anew! Hark, what the sweet-voiced fledgling sparrows low to themselves are saying,

Pecking my golden oats where the corn-flowers gleam so blue!

THE ALBATROSS.

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Welcome, a thousand times welcome, ye dear and delicate neighbours-
Bird, and bee, and butterfly, and humming-bird fairy fine!
Proud am I to offer you a field for your graceful labours;

All the honey and all the seeds are yours in this garden of mine.

I sit on the doorstep and watch you. Beyond lies the infinite ocean,
Sparkling, shimmering, whispering, rocking itself to rest.
And the world is full of perfume and colour and beautiful motion,
And each new hour of this sweet day the happiest seems and best.
CELIA THAXTER•

THE ALBATROSS.

TIME cannot age thy sinews, nor the gale
Batter the network of thy feathered mail,
Lone sentry of the deep!

Among the crashing caverns of the storm,
With wing unfettered, lo! thy frigid form
Is whirled in dreamless sleep!

Where shall thy wing find rest for all its might?
When shall thy lidless eye that scours the night,
Grow blank in utter death?

When shall thy thousand years have stripped the bare
Invulnerable spirit of the air,

And sealed thy giant breath?

Not till thy bosom hugs the icy wave—
Not till thy palsied limbs sink in that grave,

Caught by the shrieking blast,

And hurled upon the sea with broad wings locked,
On an eternity of waters rocked,

Defiant to the last!

CHARLES WARREN STODDARD.