Mild star of the soul! in the vesper glow
Of the lingering daylight beaming--
There's a priceless balm to the bosom of woe
In the light from thy coronet streaming.
From the placid arch of the evening sky,
And the waveless ether sleeping--
Thy spell descends to the dewy eye,
And our woes dissolve in weeping.
On the lightning wings of memory borne,
We retrace the paths of our gladness,--
And the bounding bliss of our vernal morn
Brings smiles to lighten our sadness.
With the airy step and the bird-like song
Of our youth on the star-lit mountain,
We dance to the streamlet's tuneful tongue,
Or lave in the gelid fountain.
We renew the joys of the wild-rose bower
Where the burning vow was plighted;
And again in the calm of the genial hour
We drink the warm kiss delighted.
In the smiles of a _Mother's_ love we stand,
The tears of joy repressing,
And we thrill at the touch of a _Father's_ hand,
As we kneel to ask his blessing.
These--these are the thoughts that thy talisman ray,
Calls up from the years departed;
And these are the joys that in hope's decay,
Yield a balm to the broken-hearted.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.