There is a wisdom in the light of stars, A wordless lore which summons me away-- This ignorance belongs to earth which bars The spirit in these darkened walls of clay, And stifles all the soul's aspiring breath;-- True knowledge only dawns within the gales of Death. Imprisoned thus, why fear we then to meet The angel who shall ope the dungeon-door, And break these galling fetters from our feet, To lead us up from Time's benighted shore? Is it for love of this dark cell of dust, Which, tenantless, awakes but horror and disgust? Long have I mused upon all lovely things; But thou, oh Death! art lovelier than all; Thou sheddest from thy recompensing wings A glory which is hidden by the pall-- The excess of radiance falling from thy plume Throws from the gates of Time a shadow on the tomb. THE BARD. BY S. ANNA LEWIS. Why should my anxious heart repine That Wealth and Power can ne'er be mine, And Love has flown-- That Friendship changes as the breeze? Mine is a joy unknown to these; In Song's bright zone, To sit by Helicon serene, And hear the waves of Hippocrene Lave Phoebus' throne. Here deathless lyres the strains prolong, That gush from living founts of song, Without a cross; Here spirits never feel the weight Of Wrong, or Envy, or of Hate, Or earthly loss; The pomp of Pelf--the pride of Birth-- The gilded trappings of this earth Return to dross. Oh, ye! who would forget the ills Of earth, and all the bosom fills With agony! Come dwell with me in Fancy's dream, Beside this lovely fabled stream Of minstrelsy; And let its draughts celestial roll Into the deep wells of thy soul Eternally. God always sets along the way Of weary souls some beacon ray Of light divine; And only when my spirit's wings Are weary in the quest of springs Of Song, I pine; If I could always heavenward fly, And never earthward turn mine eye, Bliss would be mine. THE WILL. BY MISS E. A. DUPUY PART I. There is peace in the Night of the Early Dead-- It will yield to a glorious morrow! _Clarke_. Amid all the brightness and bloom which the imagination conjures up, when we think of the sunny islands lying within the tropics, many mournful associations arise and cast a sadness over the picture. Very few have not had within the circle of their relatives, or friends, some cherished one, who has vainly sought the balmy breezes of those favored spots, with the feverish hope that amid their loveliness Death would forget to launch his arrows for them.