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192   MRS. E. C. KINNEY.

Look round this garden of the dead, where creep green myrtle vines, 
Where box surrounds the sleeper's home, and scented sweet-brier twines;
Where lowly violets ope to heaven their tiny eyes of blue, 
Fill'd oft at morn with glittering tears, the drops of early dew 

And now, bend upward still your steps to gain the highest peak,
And let your eyes the view beneath, and distant prospect seek;
O, beautiful! thrice beautiful! there, blended hill and dale, 
And here, the lofty mansion with the cottage of the vale. 

The city spires, which look to Heaven, in whose high cause they stand
As guides to point the pilgrim's eye toward the far promised land;
The distant villages that speck with white the wavy green,
And farther still, the deep blue lake, with many a sail, is seen.

Descend again, and pause beside this vine-encircled tomb;
And tell me, is there aught around to fill the mind with gloom?
List to the feather'd songsters' notes that warble from the trees,
And hear the music soft that steals upon the whispering breeze!

Oh, say, do not fair Nature's tones awake the soul to bliss?
And does not thought ascend to heaven, from such a spot as this?
And even the grave, does not its voice, amid such flowery ground,
Say to the weary sons of earth, "Here sweet repose is found?"

MOUNT HOPE! thy consecrated walks I never more may tread, 
And learn to die by coming here the lessons of the dead;
Yet sweet 'twould be to "rest my flesh in hope" beneath thy sod, 
Till the last trump should bid it rise, to see a FATHER, GOD!


MARGUERITE ST. LEON LOUD.

Mrs. Loud, formerly Miss Barstow, was born in Bradford County, Pennsylvania; and passed the early part of her life in the beautiful retirement of her native home, enjoying unrestrained intercourse with the wildest scenes of wood and valley that are to be found among the windings of the Susquehannah.  Although when a child she committed whole volumes of poetry to memory, and studied with fond devotion the best poets, (as well as nature, one of the best teachers a poet can have,) it was not until the time of her marriage in 1824, that her own talent began to develope itself.  She is now quite an accomplished writer, and contributes to various magazines and daily journals; her poems often possess much melody of language, graceful thought, and tender feeling. 

THE DESERTED HOMESTEAD.

THERE is a lonely homestead
In a green and quiet vale,
With its tall trees sighing mournfully
To every passing gale;
There are many mansions round it,
In the sunlight gleaming fair;
But moss-grown is that ancient roof,
Its walls are grey and bare.

Where once glad voices sounded
Of children in their mirth,
No whisper breaks the solitude
By that deserted hearth.
The swallow from her dwelling
In the low eaves, hath flown;
And all night long, the whip-poor-will
Sings by the threshold stone.

17   N   (193)

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---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-27 14:14:07 ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-28 18:45:41