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116 CAROLINE GILMAN.

My fresh and cool piazza! I seek the healthy breeze
That circles round thy shading vines, and softly-waving trees,
With step on step monotonous, I tread thy level floor,
And muse upon the sacred past, or calmly look before.

My bright and gay piazza! I love thee in the hour,
When morning decks with dewy gems the wavy blade and flow'r,
When the bird alights, and sings his song, upon the neighboring tree,
As if his notes were only made to cheer himself and me.

My cool and fresh piazza! I love thee when the sun
His long and fervid circuit o'er the burning earth has run ;
I joy to watch his parting light loom upward to the eye,
And view the pencil-touch shade off, and then in softness die

My sociable piazza! I prize thy quiet talk,
When arm in arm with one I love, I tread the accustomed walk ;
Or loll within our rocking-chairs, not over nice or wise,
And yield the careless confidence, where heart to heart replies

My piaza, my piazza! my spirit oft rejoices,
When from thy distant nooks I hear the sound of youthful voices ;
The careless jest, the bursting laugh, the carol wildly gay,
Or cheerful step, with exercise that crowns the studious day.

My beautiful piazza! thou hast thy nightly boast,
When brightly in the darken'd sky appear the heavenly host;
Arcturus glows more brilliantly than monarchs' blazing gem,
And fair Corona sits enshrined, like angels' diadem.

My loved and lone piazza! the dear ones have departed,
And each their nightly pillow seek, the young and happy-hearted,
I linger still, a solemn hush is brooding o'er the skies,
A solemn hush upon the earth in tender silence lies.

CAROLINE GILMAN. 117

I feel as if a spirit's wing came near and brush'd my heart,
And bade, before I yield to sleep, earth's heavy cares depart ;
Father, in all simplicity, I breathe the prayer i love,
Oh! watch around my slumbering form, or take my soul above!

A SKETCH.

   The gay saloon was throng'd with grace and beaty,
While astral rays shone out on lovely eyes,
And lovely eyes look'd forth a clearer beam.
   Fashion was there - not in her flaunting robes,
Lavish of charms - but that fair sprite who moulds
All to her touch, yet leaves it nature still.
  The light young laugh came reed-like on the ear,
Touching the cord of joy, electrical ;
And smiles too graceful for a sound passed out
From ruby lips, like perfume from a flower.
   Catching the gracious word of courtesy,
The listening maid turn'd to the speaker's eye ;
And bowing his honour'd lowliness,
His manly head inclined to her slight form.
   There was a hum of social harmony,
"Like the soft south" upon the rushing seas.
Between its pauses burst the harp's rich tone,
Pour'd out by one who fill'd the poet's eye
With fond fruition of his classic dream.
   A voice was there - clear and distinct it rose,
Like evening's star when other stars are dim ;
Clear, sweet and lonely, as that southern bird's 
Who on far turrets trills his midnight lay.
In the heart's cavern, deep that voice when down,
Waking up echoes of the silent past.
   O woman! lovely in thy beauty's power!
Thrice lovely, when we know that thou canst turn
To duty's path, and tread it with a smile.