No sculptured marble marks the spot where this dull clay is laid;

No sigh is breathed, save of the gale, in the dim cypress shade!

And who this wasting breast hath loved, the still grave answers not;

'T is only known its throbs are hushed its weariness forgot:

The clod hath sent its hollow sound up from the coffin-lid:

The farewell hath been spoken-the familiar face been hid!

And where are they, who once did stand beside this nameless mound,

And felt the unhealed pang of Grief-the bosom's secret wound?

The love they bore, the tears they shed? oh, who the tale may tell!

The fitful winds no record keep, what sorrows then befell;

The sunny brook goes babbling on; the Spring leaves come and go,

Yet they waken not the heart that here lies mouldering and low;

These ashes will not live again till the dim skies

abroad

Are as a scroll, and Earth and Sea heave in the breath of GOD!

THE LIFE OF YOUTH.

THERE is a time when light, and air, and flowers,

Are shining brightly wheresoe'er we tread; When, from the passing of the swift-winged hours,

An atmosphere of love and peace is shed; When Hope flits near us, on her angel wings, And sweetly to the heart her anthem sings.

Then pleasant transports overcome the bosom, And days in pictured guise go beaming by ; A softer breath exhaleth from the blossom

A purer radiance gilds the open sky: The hues of heaven are poured on every sceneOn the glad waters, and the fields of green.

All then is beauty; from the gay clouds, waving Whene'er the breeze their golden skirts may stir,

To the blue streams their bloomy borders laving

The budding orchard, or the vernal fir: A look of gladness beams where'er we move, And fills the dancing heart with holy love.

With love for Nature, and for HIM whose power Glows in the noontide, or the blush of morn; Whose smile the waves receive the tree, the flower

The vine's rich tendrils, and the ripening corn; It wakes a Sabbath feeling in the breastA tranquil sense of harmony and rest.

This is the Life of Youth!-and oh, how fleeting

The glorious splendors of its morning be! With changeful hues the wildered fancy cheating,

As moonlight smiles imprint the evening sea; While the fair sails sweep onward in their pride, O'er treacherous waves that to dim whirlpools glide.

MRS. HEMANS.

WE weep not, when the yellow leaves are gathered,

While Autumn's peace and plenteousness abound;

When from the tinted boughs, like rainbows withered,

The golden fruit drops richly to the ground; When solemn Nature round her sadness throws A mellow glory and a warm repose.

We weep not then, amid the fruitage falling, Whose affluent incense rises to the sky; Though then we hear soft spirit-voices calling, That tell how loved and cherished things must

die;

For to the fairest blooms a change must come, That the ripe treasures may be garnered home.

'T was thus with thee, Beloved! their holy mis

sion

Thy heart and soaring lays at last fulfilled;

Then rolled the cloud beyond the spirit's vision, Till all the music of thy lyre was stilled; And like a melting wave, or waning sun, Passed from this vale of ill the Gifted One!

'Tis well, divinest Soul, with thee! for Heaven Had filled thine inmost thoughts with sacred dreams;

And to thy revery and song was given

A world of radiant and immortal gleams;
Yea, gorgeous pictures of a better land
Did ever to thy view their scene expand.

Now, all their fadeless pomp and glow perceiving,

Thou breathest freely, in celestial air;

Thy tender heart hath ceased its weary grieving,

And the pure mind is bathed in rapture there; While, mid fair ways no earthly foot hath trod, In white thou walkest, present with thy GOD!

Thou hearest melody, whose flowing numbers Once came but faintly to thy mortal ear; When ills of time were lost in evening slumbers,

And magic Fancy brought her Eden near; Thou hast thy yearning hopes' fruition nowThe wreath of Paradise surrounds thy brow!

Thou hearest harps delicious, sweetly ringing, And sister Spirits fan thee with their wings;