When leaves were falling thickly in the pale November day, A bird dropped here this feather upon her pensive way. Another bird has found it in the snow-chilled April day; It brings to him the music of all her summer's lay. Thus sweet birds, though unmated, do never sing in vain; The lonely notes they utter to free them from their pain, Caught up by the echoes, ring through the blue dome, And by good spirits guided pierce to some gentle home. The pencil moved prophetic: together now men read In the fair book of nature, and find the hope they need. The wreath woven by the river is by the seaside worn, And one of fate's best arrows to its due mark is borne. VERSES GIVEN TO W. C. WITH A BLANK BOOK, MARCH, 1844. Thy other book to fill, more than eight years Have paid chance tribute of their smiles and tears; Many bright strokes portray the varied scene-- Wild sports, sweet ties the days of toil between; And those related both in mind and blood, The wise, the true, the lovely, and the good, Have left their impress here; nor such alone, But those chance toys that lively feelings own Weave their gay flourishes 'mid lines sincere, As 'mid the shadowy thickets bound the deer Accept a volume where the coming time Will join, I hope, much reason with the rhyme, And that the stair his steady feet ascend May prove a Jacob's ladder to my friend, Peopled with angel-shapes of promise bright, And ending only in the realms of light. May purity be stamped upon his brow, Yet leave the manly footsteps free as now; May generous love glow in his inmost heart, Truth to its utterance lend the only art; While more a man, may he be more the child; More thoughtful be, but the more sweet and mild; May growing wisdom, mixed with sprightly cheer, Bless his own breast and those which hold him dear; Each act be worthy of his worthiest aim, And love of goodness keep him free from blame, Without a need straight rules for life to frame. Good Spirit, teach him what he ought to be, Best to fulfil his proper destiny, To serve himself, his fellow-men, and thee. These pages then will show how Nature wild Accepts her Master, cherishes her child; And many flowers, ere eight years more are done, Shall bless and blossom in the western sun. EAGLES AND DOVES. GOETHE.