And unchecked birds sang out

The chorus of their spring-time jubilee;-
And gentle happiness it was to me,

To list their music-shout.

And to that stranger-grave

The tribute of enkindling thoughts, the free
And unbought power of natural sympathy,
Passing, I sadly gave.

And a religious spell

On that lone mound, by man deserted, rose,

A conscious presence from on high; which glows Not where the worldly dwell.

WASHINGTON, D. C. 1836.

THE RELEASED CONVICT'S CELL,

AT THE PHILADELPHIA PENITENTIARY.

WITHIN the prison's massy walls I stood, And all was still. Down the far galleried aisles

I gazed upward and near; no eye was seen,

No footstep heard, save a few flitting guards
Urging with vacant look their daily round;
For in the precincts of each narrow cell,
Hands, busiest once amid licentious crowds,
Voices, that shouted loudest in the throng,
Were now as calm, as erst the winds and waves,
When Jesus said, Be still.

I was led on

To where a convict ten slow years had dwelt

A prison'd man.

The world again.

Released that day, he sought

Wide open stood his door.

Hard by the cell, (where for brief term each day
He walked alone to feel the blessed breeze
Play on his cheek, or see the sun-beam dawn

Like a fond mother on her erring child,)

There was a little spot of earth, that woke

Within my

breast a gush of sudden tears.

His hand had tilled it, and the fresh grass grew
Rewardingly, and springing plants were there,
One knows not how, lifting their gentle heads
In kind companionship to that lone man.
Who can portray how gladly to the eye
Of that past sinner, came in beauty forth
Those springing buds, in nature's lavish love?
Perchance they led him back in healthful thought.
To some green spot, where in his early years,
The wild-flower rose, like him unstained and free.
Oh, many a thought swept o'er my busy mind,
And my heart said, God bless thee, erring one,
Now new-born to the world! May heavenly flowers
Spring up and blossom on thy purer way

A deep, pathetic consciousness I felt

Stirring my soul in that forsaken cell.

It seemed the nest from whence had flown the bird;
Or chrysalis, from whose dark folds had burst.
Th' unfettered wing; or grave, from whence the spirit
Wrapt in earth's death-robe long, had sprung in joy.
Thus be the door of mercy oped for me,

And leaving far the prison-house of sin,
Thus may my spirit range.

PHILADELPHIA, JUNE, 1836.

THE MOCKING-BIRD IN THE CITY.

BIRD of the South! is this a scene to waken
Thy native notes in thrilling, gushing tone?
Thy woodland nest of love is all forsaken -
Thy mate alone!

While stranger-throngs roll by, thy song is lending
Joy to the happy, soothings to the sad

O'er my full heart it flows with gentle blending,
And I am glad.

And I will sing, though dear ones, loved and loving,
Are left afar in my sweet nest of hoine,

Though from that nest, with backward yearnings moving,
Onward I roam !

And with heart-music shall my feeble aiding,
Still swell the note of human joy aloud;
Nor, with untrusting soul kind heaven upbraiding,
Sigh mid the crowd.

PHILADELPHIA, MAY 24, 1836.

THE CITY OF NEW-YORK.

ATLANTIC city! brightly art thou beaming,

Throwing thy kindling ray o'er land and sea,. Enlightening myriads with thy far-spread gleaming, Home of the free.

Giant of wealth! thine arm of mighty power
Sweeps to thy coffers gold from distant shores;
While on each asking hand thy Danae shower,
Its treasure pours.

Religion's nurse! on spire and tower still flying, The Christian standard floats unfurled, and free; Never, our bold forefathers' claim denying,

Mind's liberty!

Favorite of nature! on thy green shore dwelling, Bright spring-flowers bloom, the wild birds carol

gay,

And the green ocean laves thy broad pier, smiling

In noisy play.