For I know that those I loved so well,
In Heaven their notes of triumph swell;
They sleep in those two lonely graves
In the far off West, where the willow waves.
THE GIFT.
Written after meeting, in the street, Miss C—— P——, of Boston; who was going on an errand of mercy, to carry a beautiful Peach to a sick friend.
I met her in the fragrant morn,
When the dew-drop sparkled on the thorn,
And the eastern blast was asleep at home,
And the mild south wind had softly come