Part 8 (1/2)

First cla.s.s in geography----'

F. W. S.

STANZAS

TO THE SPIRITS OF MY THREE DEPARTED SISTERS.

WRITTEN AT MID-WINTER.

Sweet sisters! ye have pa.s.sed away, In solemn silence one by one, And left a brother here to stray, In doubt and darkness--and alone!

For like three lamps of holy flame, Ye shone upon my weary way, Till a chill breath from heaven came, And quenched for aye the kindly ray.

Where are ye now?--where are ye now?

Those loving hearts and spirits, where!

O'er three new graves in grief I bow, But ye are gone--ye are not there!

The winds that sigh while wandering by, Curl the bright snow in many a wreath, And sing in mournful melody, O'er the cold dust that sleeps beneath.

The birds that sang when ye were here, Are singing in another clime; Have left the hedge and forest sere, And gone where all is summer-time.

The frail bright flowers that bloom'd around, When ye were blooming bright as they, Lie crushed and withered on the ground, Their fragrance heavenward pa.s.sed away.

And ye are gone where genial skies And radiant suns eternal s.h.i.+ne, Where peaceful songs forever rise, From saintly tongues and lips divine.

And like the flowers whose sweet perfume Has left the soil and risen above, Has risen from your silent tomb The holy fragrance of your love.

But often when the silver beams Of the pale stars are on my bed, Ye come among my sweetest dreams, And bend in silence o'er my head; And throngs of bright imaginings Float round and o'er me till the dawn; I hear the fluttering of wings!

I start--I wake! but ye are gone.

Oh! I am sad; yet still the thought That when this tired though willing hand Its earthly destiny hath wrought, Ye wait me in that distant land, And that ye long to have me there, More that I pine your absence here, Shall heal the touch of every care And quench the sting of every fear.

No marble stands with towering shaft To catch the stranger's curious eye; No tablet graved with flattering craft, Tells where your silent ashes lie; But there is one secluded spot In the deep shadows of my soul, Where stranger foot intrudeth not, Nor winter's wanton tempests roll.

And there in Friends.h.i.+p's burial-ground The willow of remembrance bends, And ye my sisters there have found A home among my choicest friends; And modelled with etherial grace, The form of HOPE with heavenward eyes, Stands calmly on your burial-place, And points her finger to the skies.

I. G. HOLLAND.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE PRAIRIE HERMIT.

EDITED BY PETER VON GEIST.

It happened on the twenty-seventh day of July, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and forty-two, that I, PETER VON GEIST, found myself, in the natural course of events, journeying on horse-back along the northern bank of the Ohio river, in the state of Illinois. The s.p.a.ce between me and the house where I designed to stop, and the time between then and sun-down, were somewhat disproportionate; so I p.r.i.c.ked gallantly forward; as gallantly at least as could be expected from a tired horse, and a knight whose recreant thoughts were intensely fixed on dollars and cents, supper, and other trifling affairs. By dint however of much patience in the steed, and much impatience in the rider, we got over the ground, and approached a house that had been in sight for some distance.

It was placed on the summit of a steep, conical hill; there was no smoke from its chimney, or voices to be heard, or persons to be seen, or other signs of life, in its precincts. The gra.s.s grew high and green all around the hillock, and there was no road, not even a foot-path, visible on its side. Nevertheless, I dismounted, left my horse to improve the opportunity of s.n.a.t.c.hing a light repast on the abundant herbage, and forced my way up to the top of the knoll.

The building was constructed in the rude fas.h.i.+on of the country; but the c.h.i.n.king had fallen out from between the logs; the chimney had partly tumbled down; tall weeds sprung up between the stones of the door-steps; the door itself was fastened with a huge padlock; the windows were nearly all beaten in, and every thing about it gave evidence that it had not been inhabited for several years. The summit of the hill was smooth and level.