Just as Kate had concluded her preparations for returning home, the moon made its appearance, and a straggling beam roped in, as if to ascertain, how she was passing the precious hours of dearting day. The friend who had procured for her the last two articles, came in almost out of breath with haste, saying, See, see what I have procured for you From Margaret Miller Davidson, as she was out to watch the gentle moon's app...ch. I do think it is a very beautiful eusion, and plainly indicates the gifted o which is enshrined within the youthful and almost etherial form." Kate's thanks were warmly expressed, and she seated herself to examine her new donation. To a Moonbeam. Ah, whither art straying, thou spirit of light, From thy home in the boundless sky? Why lookest thou down from the empire of night, With that silent and sorrowful eye? Thou art resting here on the autumn leaf, But oh, what pictures of joy or grief, Thou art glancing down on the ocean waves, Thou art pouring thy beams on Italia's shore, And the monk to his midnight prayer. Thou art casting a fretwork of silver rays Thou art gilding the temples of former days, In this holy and beautiful hour. Thou art silently roaming through forest and glade, Where mortal foot never hath trod; Thou art lighting the grave where the dust is laid, While the spirit hath gone to its God! Thou art looking on those I love! oh, wake In their hearts some remembrance of me, And gaze on them thus, till their boson's partake Of the love I am breathing to thee. And perchance thou art casting this mystic spell On the beautiful land of the blest, Where the dear ones of earth have departed to dwell, Where the weary have fled to their rest. Oh yes! with that soft and ethereal beam, Thou hast looked on the mansions of bliss, And some spirit, perchance, of that glorified world Hath breathed thee a message to this. 'Tis a mission of love, for no threatening shade Can be blent with thy spirit-like hues, And thy ray thrills the heart, as love only can thrill, And while raising it melts and subdues. And it whispers compassion; for lo, on thy brow Is the sadness of angels enshrined, And a misty veil, as of purified tears, Hail beam of the blessed! my heart Has drunk deep of thy magical power, And each thought and each feeling seems bathed In the light of this exquisite hour! Sweet ray I have proved thee so fair In this dark world of mourning and sin, May I hail thee more bright in that pure region, where Nor sorrow nor death enter in." She Kate now started with her gathered treasures to return to her home. She was alone. Those agreeable companions with whom she had spent pleasant and profitable hours, were left behind. gave utterance to her thoughts thus: "O Solitude, where are thy charms?” The leaves rustled as some one approach, a moment she listened - the step came nearer-and Charles Fenno Hoffman addressed her thus: |