A SPRING-DAY WALK.

ADIEU, the city's ceaseless hum,

The haunts of sensual life, adieu!
Green fields, and silent glens! we come,
To spend this bright spring-day with you.
Whether the hills and vales shall gleam

With beauty, is for us to choose;
For leaf and blossom, rock and stream,
Are colour'd with the spirit's hues.
Here, to the seeking soul, is brought
A nobler view of human fate,
And higher feeling, higher thought,

And glimpses of a higher state.
Through change of time, on sea and shore,
Serenely nature smiles away;
Yon infinite blue sky bends o'er

Our world, as at the primal day. The self-renewing earth is moved

With youthful life each circling year; And flowers that CERES' daughter loved At Enna, now are blooming here. Glad nature will this truth reveal,

That God is ours and we are His;

O, friends, my friends! what joy to feel
That He our loving father is!

TO ONE FAR AWAY. SWIFTER far than swallow's flight, Homeward o'er the twilight lea; Swifter than the morning light, Flashing o'er the pathless sea, Dearest in the lonely night Memory flies away to thee! Stronger far than is desire;

Firm as truth itself can be; Deeper than earth's central fire; Boundless as the circling sea; Yet as mute as broken lyre,

Is my love, dear wife, for thee! Sweeter far than miser's gain,

Or than note of fame can be Unto one who long in vain

Treads the paths of chivalryAre my dreams, in which again My fond arms encircle thee!

BEATRICE.

UsTorca'n by mortal passion,
Thou seem'st of heavenly birth,
Pure as the effluence of a star

Just reach'd our distant earth!
Gave Fancy's pencil never
To an ideal fair
Such spiritual expression

As thy sweet features wear.
An inward light to guide thee
Unto thy soul is given,
Pure and serene as its divine
Original in heaven.

Type of the ransom'd PSYCHE!

How gladly, hand in hand,

To some new world I'd fly with thee From off this mortal strand.

LINES.

UNDERNEATH this marble cold,
Lies a fair girl turn'd to mould;
One whose life was like a star,
Without toil or rest to mar
Its divinest harmony,

Its Gon-given serenity.

One, whose form of youthful grace,
One, whose eloquence of face
Match'd the rarest gem of thought
By the antique sculptors wrought:
Yet her outward charms were less
Than her winning gentleness,
Her maiden purity of heart,
Which, without the aid of art,
Did in coldest hearts inspire
Love, that was not all desire.
Spirit forms with starry eyes,
That seem to come from Paradise,
Beings of ethereal birth,

Near us glide sometimes on earth,
Like glimmering moonbeams dimly seen
Glancing down through alleys green;
Of such was she who lies beneath
This silent effigy of grief.

Wo is me! when I recall

One sweet word by her let fall-
One sweet word but half-express'd—
Downcast eyes told all the rest,
To think beneath this marble cold,
Lies that fair girl turn'd to mould.

THE DREAMING GIRL.
SHE floats upon a sea of mist,
In fancy's boat of amethyst!
A dreaming girl, with her fair cheek
Supported by a snow-white arm,
In the calm joy of innocence,

Subdued by some unearthly charm.
The clusters of her dusky hair
Are floating on her bosom fair,
Like early darkness stealing o'er

The amber tints that daylight gave,
Or, like the shadow of a cloud

Upon a fainting summer-wave.
Is it a spirit of joy or pain
Sails on the river of her brain?
For, lo! the crimson on her cheek

Faints and glows like a dying flame;
Her heart is beating loud and quick-
Is not love that spirit's name?
Up-waking from her blissful sleep,
She starts with fear too wild to weep;
Through the trailing honeysuckle,

All night breathing odorous sighs, Which her lattice dimly curtains,

The morn peeps in with his bright eyes. Perfume loved when it is vanish'd, Pleasure hardly felt ere banish'd, Is the happy maiden's vision,

That doth on her memory gleam, And her heart leaps up with gladness— That bliss was nothing but a dream!

Mus. DINNIES is a daughter of Mr. Justice SHACKLEFORD, of South Carolina. She was educated in Charleston, at a seminary kept by the daughters of Doctor RAMSAY, the historian of the Revolution. In 1830 she was married to Mr. JOHN C. DINNIES, of Saint Louis, and has since resided in that city. Mrs. HALE, in her "Ladies' Wreath," states that she became engaged in a literary correspondence with Mr. DINNIES more than four years before their union, and that they

never met until one week before the solemnization of their marriage. "The contract was made long before, solely from sympathy and congeniality of mind and taste; and that in their estimate of each other they were not disappointed, may be inferred from the tone of her songs; for the domestic happiness that these portray can exist only where both are happy." The poetical writings of Mrs. DINNIES were originally published in various literary miscellanies, under the signature of "Moina."

WEDDED LOVE.

COME, rouse thee, dearest !-'tis not well
To let the spirit brood

Thus darkly o'er the cares that swell
Life's current to a flood.

As brooks, and torrents, rivers, all
Increase the gulf in which they fall,
Such thoughts, by gathering up the rills
Of lesser griefs, spread real ills,
And with their gloomy shades conceal
The land-marks Hope would else reveal.
Come, rouse thee, now-I know thy mind,
And would its strength awaken;
Proud, gifted, noble, ardent, kind,—

Strange thou shouldst be thus shaken!
But rouse afresh each energy,
And be what Heaven intended thee;
Throw from thy thoughts this wearying weight,
And prove thy spirit firmly great:

I would not see thee bend below
The angry storms of earthly wo.

Full well I know the generous soul

Which warms thee into life,
Each spring which can its powers control,
Familiar to thy wife,-

For deem'st thou she had stoop'd to bind
Her fate unto a common mind?
The eagle-like ambition, nursed
From childhood in her heart, had first
Consumed, with its Promethean flame,
The shrine-than sunk her soul to shame.
Then rouse thee, dearest, from the dream

That fetters now thy powers:
Shake off this gloom-Hope sheds a beam
To gild each cloud which lowers;
And though at present seems so far
The wished-for goal-a guiding star,
With peaceful ray, would light thee on,
Until its utmost bounds be won:
That quenchless ray thou'lt ever prove
In fond, undying Wedded Love.

49

TO A WHITE CRYSANTHEMUM.
WRITTEN IN DECEMBER.

FAIR gift of friendship! and her ever bright
And faultless image! welcome now thou art,
In thy pure loveliness-thy robes of white,
Speaking a moral to the feeling heart;
Unscathed by heats, by wintry blasts unmoved-
Thy strength thus tested, and thy charms improved.
Emblem of innocence, which fearless braves

Life's dreariest scenes, its rudest storm derides, And floats as calmly on o'er troubled waves,

As where the peaceful streamlet smoothly glides; Thou'rt blooming now as beautiful and clear As other blossoms bloom, when spring is here. Symbol of hope, still banishing the gloom

Hung o'er the mind by stern December's reign! Thou cheer'st the fancy by thy steady bloom

THOUGHTS IN AUTUMN.

YES, thou art welcome, Autumn! all thy changes,
From fitful gloom, to sunny skies serene,
The starry vaults, o'er which the charm'd eye ranges,
And cold, clear moonlight, touching every scene
With a peculiar sadness, are sweet things,
To which my heart congenial fondly clings.
There is a moral in the wither'd wreaths

And faded garlands that adorn thy bowers; Each blighted shrub, chill'd flower, or sear'd leaf breathes

Of parted days, and brighter by-gone hours, Contrasting with the present dreary scene [been. Spring's budding beauties, pleasures which have

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THE HEART.

THE WIFE.

I COULD have stemm'd misfortune's tide,
And borne the rich one's sneer,
Have braved the haughty glance of pride,
Nor shed a single tear.

I could have smiled on every blow

From life's full quiver thrown,
While I might gaze on thee, and know
I should not be "alone."

I could I think I could have brook'd,
E'en for a time, that thou
Upon my fading face hadst look'd

With less of love than now;
For then I should at least have felt

The sweet hope still my own

To win thee back, and, whilst I dwelt
On earth, not been "alone."

But thus to see, from day to day,

Thy brightening eye and cheek,
And watch thy life-sands waste away,
Unnumber'd, slowly, meek;

To meet thy smiles of tenderness,
And catch the feeble tone

Of kindness, ever breathed to bless,
And feel, I'll be "alone;"

To mark thy strength each hour decay,
And yet thy hopes grow stronger,

As, filled with heavenward trust, they say

THERE was a time when Fancy, uninvoked,
Cast her light spells where'er my spirit roved,
Each passing scene anew her smiles provoked,
And all seem'd lovely-for each one was loved.
But now I gaze, unheeding most I see

Of wild or fair, in Nature's boundless hoard; A change is over all—a change in me-

As Lethe's streams o'er fancy's source are pour'd This change I mourn, and seek again the dreams Which brighten'd, soothed, and gladden'd life of yore;

But shaded groves, fresh flowers, and purling

streams

Exert their influence o'er my mind no more.

No more I dream--for Fancy has grown old,

And thought is busied now with sterner things: E'en feeling's self--yet, no! I am not cold;

But feeling now round other objects clings.

There are, in life, realities as dear,

Nay, dearer far than fancy can create, Though taste may vary, beauty disappear, That linger still, defying time and fate. The flush of youth soon passes from the face, The spells of fancy from the mind depart, The form may lose its symmetry and grace-But time can claim no victory o'er the heart.

SONG.

I COULD not hush that constant theme
Of hope and revery;

For every day and nightly dream

Whose lights across my dark brain gleam,
Is fill'd with thee.

I could not bid those visions spring
Less frequently;

For each wild phantom which they bring,
Moving along on fancy's wing,
But pictures thee.

I could not stem the vital source
Of thought, or be

Compell'd to check its whelming force,
As ever in its onward course
It tells of thee.

I could not, dearest, thus control
My destiny,

Which bids each new sensation roll,
Pure from its fountain in my soul,
To life and thee.

HAPPINESS.

THERE is a spell in every flower,
A sweetness in each spray,
And every simple bird has power
To please me with its lay!
And there is music on each breeze
That sports along the glade;
The crystal dew-drops on the trees
Are gems, by Fancy made.

There's gladness, too, in every thing,
And beauty over all:

For everywhere comes on, with spring,
A charm which cannot pall!
And I my heart is full of joy,

And gratitude is there,

That He, who might my life destroy,
Has yet vouchsafed to spare.

The friends I once condemn'd are now
Affectionate and true:

I wept a pledged one's broken vowBut he proves faithful too.

And now there is a happiness

In every thing I see,

Which bids my soul rise up and bless The GoD who blesses me.