A FOREST SCENE. BY MRS. R. S. NICHOLS. I wandered out in summer time, One pleasant afternoon, Amid the green and cooling woods— The leafy woods of June; As through its temple’s shadowy aisles In mournfulness I walked, I listened to the breezy trees As friend with friend they talked! And gazing upwards in my face, Each meek wood-flower drew back, Nor did a single blade of grass Impede my onward track; And ever on my listening ear There came a lulling sound, As of a multitude in prayer— Methought ’twas holy ground! I rested on a mossy bank, And cast my eyes above; The lithe green branches arch’d o’erhead, And twined their arms in love; And nought was seen of the blue sky Save islets here and there, Which seemed like some fair summer lakes That smiled in upper air! A twilight, rich and tender light, Came stealing from the skies, And, oh! ’twas like the light that rests In a young mother’s eyes! I saw the gentle flowrets wave Their urns, still filled with dew, And by my side the dark-fringed fir— The “tree of Heaven,” grew! Oh! all was fair and beautiful, In these bright forest bowers, A region of perpetual green— A paradise of flowers! Though all was very beautiful, So free from woe and sin, I turned from the bright world without, To darker worlds within: I closed my eyes, and pressed my hand Upon my burning brow, And many were the busy thoughts That crowded round me now! For, oh! the memories of years, With all their clouds o’ercast, Rose up from that vast charnel-house, The dim, sepulchral past! And like a train of spectres wan They passed in my review, And each faint shadow as it came, Still pale and paler grew! On, onward yet, they came—a throng Of white and ghastly things, As if stern Memory had stirred Oblivion’s darkest springs! And still the tears fell thick and fast, For nought could then control The passion and the agony That swept across my soul! Oh! many light and careless words Were ringing on the air, And thoughtless things I said or did— All seemed embodied there! And mingling with accusing sins, Faint-shadowed forms swept by, And glanced upon me as they passed, With mild, yet grieving eye! At length a sweet, reproachful face Looked in upon my dream, It spake—and, oh! the tones were those Of some sweet, mournful stream! And words came flowing from its lips, That bade me cease to weep, So that the dead within their graves In peacefulness might sleep! I started from this heavy trance, The breeze came sweeping by, It had no knowledge of my grief, Yet gave me sigh for sigh;