Or whir of swallows' silken flight
Across the waves, the calm delight
Of evening's dappling shower?

Although thou'rt crushed beneath my feet,
Thy dewy fragrance is more sweet
Than at thy frail life's dawn.
Thus, flow'r of love and purity,
This lesson I have learned of thee:
That when my friends are gone,
And fate's rude tread has crushed my heart,
Its blossoms shall more sweets impart
Than at its first love's dawn.THE CYCLONE.

How still the morn! no leaf is stirred,
Nor fruited branches sway,
Save now and then, from dewy glen,
A breath of new-mown hay,
Or blossoms of the summertide,
Is wafted up the mountain side.

How softly floats the cuckoo's song
Across the sleeping vale;
In mystic glee the echo free
Gives back the fairy tale.
The stream, in drowsy ecstasy,
Is gurgling onward to the sea.

The lark swims slowly in the blue,
The giant oaks so high,
In sunlit haze their branches raise,
As if to kiss the sky.
We hear above the twittering birds,
The placid lowing of the herds.

The silvery laughter from the lips
Of children at their play;
And in the rill below the mill
The horses paw and neigh;
While youths and maidens plight their vows,

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