The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1869-11-20
THE DECEMBER MAGAZINES.
" "PUTNABI,s."


Bascom. Memory is immortal" Elizabeth
stoddard "Dumb Guides to the Pole," Pro-
fessor T. b. Maury. sketches in Color" IRE
collections of Childhood" Father Hyacinthe;
Englished by Lucyl Fountain. "Table-talk."
Literature at Home" "Literature and Art
Abroad" Current Events" New Publca-
tions."
The following translation Of poem written
by Father Hyacnthe at the age of sixteen is
interesting at the present time
RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD.
"Dolce color d'oriental saniro."-Dante.
While was still young child, fresh and fair,
With pure calm brow beneath my sunny hair,
My days in study, prayer, and childish play,
In solitude untroubled passed away.
Our little house beside convent stood,
Where oft prayed before the Holy Rood.
Saint Ursula !-as the dear name say,
Come thronging thoughts of years long passed
away;
When happy peace winged every fleeting hour,
And spring, within my soul burst into flower:
Ilove thee though within thy churchs walls
The sunshine through no pictured window falls,
Making twilight in the dreamy air;
No stately nave or sculptured frieze is there.
i love thee though no dainty carvings line
Thy ancient walls, nor DER them ivies twine;
No proud bell-towers, whose Ginning melodies
Guido the birds that warble in the skies;
No pomp of tombs hast thou, wherein the dead
Low IN tne dust repOSe the weary neaQ.
Within thy white walls all is bright and gay,
And tells us thou vert made but for day.
But placed beneath the happy converts shade,
Where all earth's noises into silence fade,
Something within thee breathes pensive calm
That falls upon the harassed mind like balm.
And like q shadow from my happy past,
A charm resistless round my soul has cast.
There. once each morning, on thy pavement
wide,
knelt me down. fresh from the limpid tide,
And with my mothers kiss warm on my brow,
My soul to God in childish prayer did bow.
How many times, while rose the vesper prayer,
And the swung censer perfumed all the air,
Descending slowly, like the holy dove,
A sacred reverie bathed my soul in love
An angel sent to raise Responding eyes,
Where faith shows all they long for in the Skies
While the tall tapers gave a softened light,
And the veiled choir charmed the listning
night.
Here, for the first time, were my footsteps led,
Where at thy altar, in the sacred bread,
Ny ardent lips upon my God were fed.
For this love thee Ever from thy walls
holy peace upon my spirit falls.
- happy days! D days long lost, still dear!
lofty hail. my father working near,
! see among my early memories,
Where rows of portraits watched me with their
There my young sisters and my brother played,
While soberly from book to book 1 strayed;
Like the blithe bee that through the summer
hours
Fits restless DER the gardens wealth of flowers,
Lights on bud, and then away again,
| went from pen to book, and book to pen.
Ah loved retreat, to memory ever dear!
The thought of thee brings the quick-cominG
en- though drew thine image line by line
l cannot paint the spell that once was thine
That through the maZes of our childish play
Still drew my soul to thy dear books away.
Then hand in hand with Joy my young soul
strayed,
Nor eyer met with sorrow as we played.
Where, on thy vine-clad hills, o Turancon,
The purple clusters ripen in the sun.
In the old villa, where our childish eyes
Saw Gothic towers in feudal pomp arise,
A cosy nest, where gentle turtle-doves
To three sweet children murmured low their
loves
shared my sports and spent my happy hours
With the bright group Of children, birds, and
flowers.
The eldest seemed that favored child of light
From whose red lips fell pearls and diamonds
Angel or fairy seemed the vision splendid,
And peace and JOY her every step attended.
The breezes followed her with sweet caresses,
And held their revels in her sunny tresses.
The sunshine there its lost gold seemed to seek,
| And touched with richer rose her peachy cheek.
| The lamb that fled before my outstretched hand
Ran to her call, and seemed to understand.
| The timld sparrow lost its early dread,
| And nibbled from her hand the crumbs OF
| bread.
| -. All, how l longed to stop the flying
hours
When, in our home, we seemed to call her ours!
| And when she left us, in my wlstful eyes
The slow large tears of sorrow would arise,
| AS long STOOD with saddest discomfort,
| To watch down the long street, the way she
| went.
| For in her absence all smiles fled away
| The charm had gone from study and from play
| void was in my heart, forlorn and weary;
Without her presence, all the day was dreary.
Through all my home, now but desert drear
| Her form saw her voice | seemed to hear;
And through the watches of deceitful night
Her image sOothed me in vision bright.
One of those days when Gods smile piercetl
| through
| The summer sky, so perfect is the blue,
| And to the vast dome of the arching skies
A hymn of love and worship seems to RISE
Mingling, beneath the shady forest bowers,
The song of birds and the sweet breath o
| flowers,
Out in the fields we held little feast,
And her dear presence all my joy increased.
| When evening came our wilder mirth to still,
| Upon the shoulder of the little hill,
| Within the dim edge of the echoing wood,
| With smiling plenty heaped, our table stood.
| Alas between us yawned distance wide, .
And weary dragged the time, far from her sidC.
But when the feast was DER, and we were free
How blithely rang again our childish gee!
Like u wild bird let loose in native skies,
Through the green thiclets swift her light foo
| flies
And the chance turnings of the tangled mazQ
Now hide her form, now yield it to my gazeJ
| And pursue, us wild with youthful bliss
We chase the flying steps of Happiness
| That phantom vague that ever tempts us On,
Only to vanish with the horizon.
| Ny years were twelve; but still that happy eve
Within my heart golden trace can leave;
I.t.. l. 4