The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1859-04-21
MY MISSING FLO w Err.
BY MARY z. BRYAN.

BY MARY E. BRYAN.
The day has glided past us, like bark
fairy bark on an enchanted sea,
And now its gold and CRIMSON pennon fades
In the far West and the pale stars look forth
TO tell US that the day has sailed away
Into the mighty ocean of the Past,
And shall return more.
How fair it was:
With all June's balminess in its soft breath,
And Aprils liquid azure in its skies
Soft as the eyes of died abies, that lie
And smile through The Earth has
From lis long winter dream, and beckons now
For Spring to come and crown its sun kissed brow
With rosy chapets She will come, know;
Her herald the swift swallow, has proclaimed
That she but fingers in the tropics bowers
To weave II richer garland for her brow
And ere long she will braid the leafess vines
with gem-ike flowers, and write her magic name,
In golden daisies, on the emerald turf
And yonder skeleton oak shell gaily toss
Its green and fragrant tresses in the breeze
And feahered misers, in the clustered leaves
wan hide their Jewel baskets brmmed with pearls,
Each round, white pearl filed with a little heart
That shall a~ axe to life, to JOY and song
When April sheds her last sweet childish tears
On Mays msiurer bosom.
Twas a day
To call up olden memories, for the spell
OF its mild loneliness soo,led the sick soul
To blissful dreams, and Fancy wandered back
To chidhoods fairy land and strung again
Bright memories the silken thre ad of thong ht
As efst an youth. benea tn The naples shade,
We strung Forget me nots on syery grass
Each sound that-like pebble softly dropped
Into full and tranquil Iake-has broke
Upon the dreamy quiet of this day;
The chandeliers shrill growing the light laugh
OF gleeful childhood and the western wind
Playing a summer tune among the pines,
Has filed my soul with sadness, vague and sweet
Like that which steals across the heart that lists
To faint, far music at the midnight hour
Is II because Springs first and halcyon DAYS
Were childhoods carnival, that they thus wake
Such dreams and memories?
The young Spring marks
Her earliest footsteps in the vioets, sweet
As her own nectared lip, and 1, to-day,
Have msrveled if this balmy breeze has found
Any wild vioeis i'm its wsnderngs
BY stream aud field, hillside and sheltered glen
Their breath has mingled strangely with my dreams,
And their blue eyes have haunted me all the day
Winding me of this time year ego,
And of the Tiny hand thai brought wild flowers
And laid them on my open page, and claimed,
AS the reward. a kiss pressed on the lips
OF dewy crimson that raised to NINE
While the small feet stood tp-toe, and the curs
Were thrown back from the baby brow and bright
Glowed the young cheek, fresh the kisses sweet
Ofthe Spring breezes.
All. my little boy,
The Spring shall come with all her wealth of flowers
OF singing birds, sunshine and whispering leaves,
And the blue eyes of violets meath the sky
Shall open every where, but no dear hand
Dimped and soft as a half-budded flower
Shall gather Springs first offerings from the fields
a hem ON he naU eoor xxh., h
No wondering eyes shall shame my falling tears;
No red lips kiss them from my burning cheek
My little one, dream in the long night
That thy small fingers my bosom e
Soothing, as was their won't my throbbing heart:
stretch my arms to clasp thee, and wake
TO know that thou art far away, and weep
In utter loneliness, longing, with all
mothers passionate love, for the low voice,
In scarce artculate murmurs 10 repeat
My meme, and say some tender, broken words,
Dying away, as sleep asserts her reign,
And lays her finger on the parted lips.
All! Spring may pour her vernal treasures forth
Upon the sunny hills, and fill the trees
With warbling birds; but mine sings far away
may not hear his song.
Flower of my life,
Sole blossom OF its bghted Sprlng-my boy
Whose sunny head mothers gentle hand
child myself in years, may this young Spring,
Whose coming quickens now the pulse of Earth,
Kiss no fair roses into life, whose bloom
Shall vie with those that open on thy lips,
And flush thy dimpled cheeks; may thy pure eyes
Know but such gentle tears vioeis weep,
And when each night thou kneees at this best hour,
Beside my mothers knee, whom thou calls, Ains
May thy own absent" Mary's name be brealhed
In thy pure prisons, and when sleep shuts
Thy innocent eyes, may the kind spirit of dreams
Bring some sweet memory of her, who FIRST
Graded thy he lad upon her beating breast
John Brougham, in his new poem entitled
The Age of Gold" recently delivered before
the Theta Delta Chi Society,"" at the annual
Convention held in New York, in enumerating
the American poets, thus speaks Of our neigh
bors of the Home Journal:
aNs,l sp, s;.l Will: comes upon he sphere,
In business and in amty in-heared
So long 2 Tine, they may not now be parted:
Impulsivc- fanciful-proli6c-
The one-thoush sometimes d.sreg ardng Murray
BY coming strange words-when he's in hurry
In rich profusoH, on the passing hours
Drops countless gems, like dew upon the flowers
The etAer, more f.s.dious, slow, but cure,
Builds celebrity thar must endure
In 80 id masonry. By rule and SQUARE
Works lyme morns-neither does he tpare
Time nor mind ind labor, knowing. ,ari nanaes,'
One palace fctA olftassa million skanfiesn
A young gallant from Charleston was travel
ling on an Alabama steamboat, when he learn
ed that Mile. Piccolomini was upon the same
boat. With propriety and decorum he availed
himself of an introduction to her, and became
much pleased with the Siennese Princess. Du-
ring the trip, the boat stopped to wood up near
~ - Al !. k,,r. - ...t.-:.-.