e fragrant odor from the trees;
Spreads out rich beauties to the eye,
And softly breathes her gentlest sigh;
That wakes the ripple on the stream,--
That dances in the sun's bright beam.
But summer beauties vanish soon,--
As shadows dim the sun at noon;
And Autumn comes with aspect mild,
Meditation's favorite child.

She takes the gift from Summer fair,--
Unbraids the tresses of her hair,
Mellows her fruits, scatters her flow'rs,
And blights the leaves upon her bow'rs,
Then, breathes a mournful sigh around,
And whirls them, wither'd, o'er the ground.

Then Winter comes, with tempest wild,
Nature's boisterous, willful child,
To bind the streams in icy chains,--
Drive sleet and snow across the plains;
And howling through the wintry sky,
The drifting winds shriek loud and high.

Thus Winter closes every year,
With snow, and ice, and tempest drear.
So human life is but a span,--
A title, portion'd out to man;
A tale, a song, a fev'rish dream,--
A bubble floating on a stream,
A tear, a sigh, a passing breath,--
A meteor, swallow'd up in death.
But though so brief the space we view,
Each has its portion'd work to do:
Youth must unbind and bud the flow'rs,
To bloom o'er manhood's sylvan bow'rs;
He must propel the early shoot,
And ripen it to golden fruit,
And weave a chaplet, rich and rare,
For age to twine around his hair,--
As Faith looks up, with trusting eye,
To brighter worlds beyond the sky.

Dedication in an Album.

Pure, unsullied pages lay before me. How chaste should be the thought,
how refined the sentiment here inscribed. May this book be dedicated
to Religion, Morality and Virtue, and a deep toned piety pervade the
thoughts and emotions here portrayed, which shall find a deep response
in your own heart. Like these spotless pages, the mind of youth lays
unoccupied, spread out for the reception of the seed committed to its
trust. May it be yours to propagate high and holy principles, that
shall be watered by the dews of divine grace, ripened by the Sun of
Righteousness, and bring forth fruit to eternal life.

As passing years bear away the glad season of youth, and usher in
a more mature period, may the traces upon these pages bring back
pleasant recollections of dear friends, some, perchance, who may have
passed away with passing years, and the hand that now writes may be
mouldering in the dust; for disguise as