y pen.' I saw the secret craving of
the spirit that gave rise to the suggestion. 'I do indeed, my dear,
delight in the effusions of your pen, but the exertion will injure
you.' 'Mamma, I _must_ write! I can hold out no longer! I will return
to my pen, my pencil, and my books, and shall again be happy.'" The
following verses, written soon after, show the state of her
feelings:--

"Earth, thou hast but nought to satisfy
The cravings of immortal mind;
Earth, thou hast nothing pure and high,
The soaring, struggling soul to bind.

Impatient of its long delay,
The pinioned spirit fain would roam,
And leave this crumbling house of clay,
To seek, above, its own bright home!

. . . . . . . . . .

O, how mysterious is the bond
Which blends the earthly with the pure,
And mingles that which death may blight
With that which ever must endure!

Arise, my soul, from all below,
And gaze upon thy destined home--
The heaven of heavens, the throne of God,
Where sin and care can never come.

. . . . . . . . . .

Compound of weakness and of strength;
Mighty, yet ignorant of thy power;
Loftier than earth, or air, or sea,
Yet meaner than the lowliest flower!--

Soaring towards heaven, yet clinging still
To earth, by many a purer tie!
Longing to breathe a tender air,
Yet fearing, trembling thus to die!"

Some verses written about the same period show the feelings she held
towards her sister Lucretia.

"My sister! with that thrilling word
What thoughts unnumbered wildly spring!
What echoes in my heart are stirred,
While thus I touch the trembling string!

My sister! ere this youthful mind
Could feel the value of thine own;
Ere this infantine heart could bind,
In its deep cell, one look, one tone,

To glide along on memory's stream,
And bring back thrilling thoughts of thee;
Ere I knew aught but childhood's dream,
Thy soul had struggled, and was free.

. . . . . . . . . .

I cannot weep that thou art fled;
Forever blends my soul with thine;
Each thought, by purer impulse led,
Is soaring on to realms divine.

. . . . . . . . . .

I hear thee in the summer breeze,
See thee in all that's pure or fair,
Thy whisper in the murmuring trees,
Thy breath, thy spirit, every where.

Thine eyes, which watch when mortals sleep,
Cast o'er my dreams a radiant hue;
Thy tears, "su