I have passed o'er the earth in the darkness of night, I have walked the wild winds in the morning's broad light; I have paused o'er the bower where the infant lay sleeping, And I've left the fond mother in sorrow and weeping. My pinion was spread, and the cold dew of night, Which withers and moulders the flower in its light, Fell silently o'er the warm cheek in its glow, And I left it there blighted, and wasted, and low; I culled the fair bud as it danced in its mirth, And I left it to moulder and fade on the earth. I passed o'er the valley, the glad sounds of joy Rose soft through the mist, and ascended on high; The fairest were there, and I paused in my flight, And the deep cry of wailing broke wildly that night. I stay not to gather the lone one to earth, I spare not the young in their gay dance of mirth, But I sweep them all on to their home in the grave, I stop not to pity--I stay not to save. I paused in my pathway, for beauty was there; It was beauty too death-like, too cold, and too fair! The deep purple fountain seemed melting away, And the faint pulse of life scarce remembered to play; She had thought on the tomb, she was waiting for me, I gazed, I passed on, and her spirit was free. The clear stream rolled gladly, and bounded along, With ripple, and murmur, and sparkle, and song; The minstrel was tuning his wild harp to love, And sweet, and half sad were the numbers he wove. I passed, and the harp of the bard was unstrung; O'er the stream which rolled deeply, 'twas recklessly hung; The minstrel was not! and I passed on alone, O'er the newly-raised turf and the rudely-carved stone. THE BRIDE'S FAREWELL. BY MARY E. BROOKS. Farewell to thee, To thee, the young home of my heart, farewell! How often will thy form in memory Renew the spell; Each burning tone, Far sweeter than the wild bird's melting note; Across my spirit like a dream by-gone, Their voices float. When rose the song, The life gush of the bosom, fresh and free, There breathed no sorrow as it swept along Thy halls of glee; Oh, when the gay, The merry hearted blend the tide again, Then fling to her, the loved one far away, One kindly strain. The skies are bright That canopy thy bowers, my soul's young rest; And, like thy fairy visions, robed in light, The loveliest: The bird among Thy deep perfumes pours its rich melody; Oh, in the music of that matin song Remember me!