Mysteriously are scattered here about, By simple rule though easy to fiud out; Belusive words at times! a common phrase! And oft repeated in life's early days: And even now 'tis pleasant in this way To give as t'were by stealth th' expression play. For what E say thus do not think me rudeUpon my word "E hope E don't intrude!” Carefully now delve in wit's capacious mines, And so make out four words, produced by just eleven signs, The message undiscovered else still lurks within these lines. MAIDEN AT THE LODGE. No one ever yet saw speck upon her, Or a stain On her morning robe of common cotton, Mousseline de laine. Charming is she in her neat attire, Down the long arch of the elm tree avenue Humble daughter of a toil bent sire, To no higher claim doth she aspire Her little stream of life still ebbing, flowing, Through the fever'd heat of summer's glowing, Sprinkles on her path his leafy showers Or when wintry winds pass shrilly by her As a bird of soft unruffled plumage Passes through the rain, So she goes upon her little missions Scarcely damped although the flying showers We shall miss thee, soon thou wilt pass by us Ere the bearded barley crop is garnered Lighting up a humble latticed chamber Where a manly heart Waits to clasp thee to its tender throbbings- Sadly will the old dame miss her daughter dear, Seated near; When the aged mother drinks the soft air In the shadow of the tall acacia's When the sultry heat becomes oppressive, Weary grow beneath the trellis frame work Where the sweet-pea's white and pale pink blossoms Where the pointed purple-dropping fuscias Overhead are hung, Where the creepers into mimic archways She will miss thy helping arm, around her Guiding step by step her tottering footfalls Resting oft, upheld by that dear arm bent With the summer petals thou wilt leave us, In its ripeness bends to meet the sickle, From earth's arid bosom torn, to fertilize So thou goest from us with God's blessing BREATHINGS OF THE INVISIBLE. Wrestling with a spirit yet unbroken, As their moods I trace, Stretched beneath the gloom of cloudy skies. Mock not though the rhymer fondly museth Through our being, feeling, thought, and sound: In entanglement Mystic as the life by which they're bound. In his toil the weary student bending, With the stillness clustered round his brow; Tells him she is there, And in blissful charm his senses bow. Ere the distant portal bell hath sounded; Doth thy love profound Mark his coming!-soon he will be here. Far beyond the tangible love goeth When the matron's holy fountful breast Of the slumbering infant's breathings knoweth, To her bosom's sense Saith a throb intense List! the babe awakeneth from its rest. When the storm of battle's tide was rolling For his soul no passing bell was tolling, To those far away, He could ne'er return to them again? Who can tell the agony of sorrow In the bleeding bullet-riven breast ; Hope for favor where Love for ever dwelleth with the blest? In their moonlit home his friends were seated, Free from thought of sadness or of care; In a distant room his harp repeated Notes of prelude to a well-known air. ""Tis our Orpen's touch! He is thinking much To surprise us-but how came he there ?" To that distant chamber swiftly gliding Orpen, speak! O speak now, we implore! Save their hurried breath As they pant with terror more and more. When the door was opened, not a token |