But let grief be gently light
Dropping like the heaven floods
Which the angels weep by night,
On the folded flower buds--
Grief as soft as moonlight's smile,
Sad, serene, and silver pale,
Gazing at an ocean isle,

Through the night's transparent veil; Then let Music's strain be blent

Of the gentlest voice and words,
Every low breathed instrument,
With a symphony of birds.
Autumn winds, with whispers low,
Rustling through the leaves so red,
And the little runnel's flow,

Heard by night when winds are dead,

Let these be our chorus soft,

When the Evening's eye is dim,

Till we, listening, hear aloft,
Spirit echoes to our hymn?

Bring all gentle bloom and buds,
Whether of the mount or meads,
Silver lilies of the floods

Nodding 'mong the yellow reeds;
Bring the bramble's bloom of snow,
And the spiked pinks of fire,
Which beside the fences grow,

Guarded by the thorny briar;

Bring the pansy, pranked with jet,

Flecked with white, and freaked with gold; And the blue-eyed violet,

Bending to the mossy mould;

Bring the sun-flower's bright torch,

Fronting to the God of Day,
And from round the rustic porch
Gather morning-glories gay;
Bring the fox-gloves, they who fold
On their purple hearts their hands,
And the tulip cups of gold,

Streaked with flaming crimson bands;
Cut the mullen's slender rods,

Studded thick with golden beads,
And the lady-slipper's pods,
Bursting open with their seeds;
Fetch the honey-suckle's horn,
Nectar filled and yellow dyed,
And the tassles of the corn,
Waving in their plumy pride ;—
Weave a garland in a ring,
Chaplet, wreath, and rosy chain,
Bid a troop of fairies sing,

Tripping o'er the greensward plain;
Let it be a sylvan mead

Dappled thick with grove and copse, Filled with winding paths, which lead Where the cress-kissed fountain drops.

There bid beauty's store be spread,
Curls of jet, and lips of red,
Eyes of blue and locks of flax,
Twined with mistletoe's white wax,--
Beauties lighter to the eye

Than the striped butterfly,

Which with velvet feet doth tread

On the crowns of thistles red.

Every gentle sprite and fay

Haunting night, and groves by day;

There shall come-and there shall be

Every sound of minstrelsy,

Instrument, and witching voice,

Till the woods and air rejoice!

Then sweeping swift from realms above

Like a meteor of love,

The Poet's soul descent shall make

To behold his earthly Wake,
And to tell the gathered host
Of the phantom-peopled coast
Far beyond the sea of skies,
On the shores of Paradise-
Till description grow so rare
Every spirit shall repair

Behind him, in a bird-like flight

Far upward to the Realm of Light!

CARRIE.

OH! would you know the Maid of Maids,
The peerless rose-bud of the prairie,
The Sylph that haunts the Western shades?
'Tis bonnie, blooming, bright eyed Carrie!

Her young soul like the butterfly,

Floats o'er life's flowers free and airy, Blue summer's cloudless heavens lie Reflected in the eye of Carrie!

Charms round her cling like golden beads, Or blossoms where the night elves tarry, Enamelling the morning meads,

They cluster thick round winsome Carrie!

Oh! should Love o'er her throw his spell, Thrice blest is he whom she shall marry, For 'neath their reof shall Angels dwell, To guard their sister spirit, Carrie!

Her eye! it is an amulet,

Wherein her soul sits like a fairy! A dew drop in a violet!

An Eden in an Agate! Carrie!

The wood dove may forget her nest,

The needle from the pole may vary,

But when thy star lights not my breast,
Be sure Death's night o'erhangs me, Carrie.

}