O when my toils on earth are done,
May I thus calmly sink to rest!
May no dark clouds around me lower,
No tempest rage within my heart,
But may my spirit in that hour,

Like yonder glorious sun, depart!

And since a cloudless setting sun 10
E'er brings a morning fair and bright,

How sweet a day will dawn upon

The pure,

unclouded spirit's sight!

An endless day of endless joy

Shall to th' enfranchis'd soul be given, Where care and sorrow ne'er annoy

An endless day of bliss-in heaven!

THE COTTAGE GIRL.

A BEAUTIFUL being she is, I ween,

Her eye is the brightest that e'er was seen;
Her brow is pure as the Parian stone;

Her smile by an angel's was ne'er out-shone;
Her tresses are dark as the raven's plume,
And her lip is rich as the young rose's bloom.

Her cheek is fair as the blush of the sky;
Her breath is sweet as the summer wind's sigh;
Her step, as a fairy's, is fleet and light

In the mazy throng of dancers bright,

And her voice steals mellow and rich along,

Like the first pure gush of the bulbul's song.

Sweet girl of the cottage! How oft, how oft,
When the stars were bright and the gales were soft,
I've wander'd with her by the smooth sea-shore,

And caught the far dip of the boatman's oar;

Or the heavenly tones of the warbling flute,
And the distant sound of the lover's lute.

How oft, how oft with her I have stray'd
Through forest and glen, o'er hill-top and glade;
Or linger'd, at twilight holy and dim,

When wild birds were singing their vesper hymn, 'Neath the willow which shades yon crystal rill, To list to the notes of the whip-poor-will.

Sweet girl of the cottage! I love her well!
Yet my soul is not bound by Beauty's spell;
For the blush of her cheek and the light of her eye
Must fade like the glow of the sun-set sky;
Her tresses must part with their glossy hue,
And the bloom of her lip be blighted too.

(

Sweet girl of the cottage! I love her well!
For innocence, truth and gentleness dwell
Within her young bosom, and ever throw
A sweetness around where her foot-steps go;
A sweetness, which steals on the soul like balm,
And bids the billows of passion be calm.

Like that plant, that beautiful plant, 11 whose bloom

Pours out on the night-air a sweet perfume,

Her flashes forth with magical power,

eye

To brighten and cheer the gloomiest hour,

And a smile wreaths her lip, so holy and mild,

She seems that she is-Heaven's own blessed child!

AUTUMN.

AUTUMN is come again! The chilling blast,
That whistles rudely by-the meadows brown,
The yellow hue, o'er hill and forest cast-

The leaves that come in rustling showers down-
The brighter radiance the stars flash forth,
The lights that play at eve along the North;

The wide extended fields of ripen'd grain

The powerless rays of the declining sunThe absence of the 'woodland wooer's' strain, Proclaim in solemn accents-Summer's gone! Gone down to swell the torrents of the Past! And who shall see another Summer cast

Its beauty o'er the Earth ?-Who shall behold
These fading scenes again in glory dight?

Ere it return, this bosom may be cold,

These eyes be sealed in everlasting night!