The converse frank, the harmless jest, The reverie without a sigh, The hammock’s undulating rest, With fond companions seated by; Yet linger, as if near thee still, I heard, upon the fitful breeze, The locust and the whippoorwill, Or rustle of the swaying trees. Hills rise in graceful curves around, Here dark with tangled forest shade, There yellow with the harvest-ground, Or emerald with the open glade; Primeval chestnuts line the strand, And hemlocks every mountain side, While, by each passing zephyr fanned, Azalin flowers kiss the tide. We nestle in the gliding barge, And turn from yon o’erarching sky, To watch, along the bosky marge, Its image in thy waters nigh. Or, gently darting to and fro, The insects on their face explore, With speckled minnows poised below, And tortoise on the pebbly floor. Or turn the prow to some lone bay Where thick the floating leaves are spread; How bright and queen-like the array Of lilies in their crystal bed! Like chalices for beauty’s lip Their snowy cones half open lie, The dew-drops of the morn to sip, But close to day’s intrusive eye. And in their pure and stately grace, Their shrinking from the noontide glare, The charm they yield their dwelling-place, How like the noblest of the fair! To thy serene and balmy air, Above life’s vain and common things, Should gentle spirits oft repair, And fondly plume their drooping wings. O let me thence, in fancy, bear The dreams of youth by thee renewed; And hallow the domain of care With visions born in solitude! * * * * * [Illustration: Drawn by G. Harvey, Engraved by J. Smillie _Catskill Mountain House _ From an original picture painted for Graham.] * * * * * THISTLE-DOWN. OR ROSALIE SHERWOOD’S DEBUT. BY CAROLINE CHESEBRO’. As, one by one, thy hopes depart Be resolute and calm. · · · · · · Oh fear not in a world like this, And thou shalt know ere long— Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong. LONGFELLOW. CHAPTER I.