MEMORIES OF THE PAST.*

BY JOSEPH M. GREENWOOD, A. M.

O'ER the vast waters of the boundless past,
Where age on age hath ta'en its rapid flight,
What glittering ray is o'er its surface cast?

"Tis the warm beam of memory's beacon light. It streams from some loved, solitary spot,

Where hope was bright, and friendship ever green— Where every zephyr sighed, "Forget me not," And naught but joy was heard, or smiles were seen. Time's ever-changing scenes may hide from view The images once bright on memory's page; But golden thoughts, as drops of morning dew, Yet gild this spot, the best of boyhood's age. We tread again these loved, familiar halls,

And turn from the strange throng the filling eye: The sound of giddy mirth unwelcome falls

Upon the ear, and drowns the deep-drawn sigh. O, tell me not 'tis weakness now to weep;

For fancy's wings my musing soul hath led To by-gone scenes: there let it calmly sleep: Too soon 'twill wake to find that they have fled.

I had a dream. The visions of the past

Were bright around me. Each familiar tone A listless rapture o'er my senses cast,

And forms once loved on earth now heav'nly shone;

But one bright, angel form came flitting by,

Enrobed in fancy's glittering attire,

And on her brow the impress,

Memory,"

Shone as if kindled by celestial fire.

She came the leader of a chosen band,

What charms around thy spirit twine, Enticing thee to stay!

The flowers of youth will quickly pine, And hope's bright planet cease to shine, Cheering the dreary way.

Come while hope is brightly beaming

In thy young and tearless eye; While thy heart is vainly dreaming That those hopes will never die. Come while thy life's a sinless stream, Unruffled by earth's madd'ning care, And o'er its surface hope's gay beam

217

Falls heav'nly bright, serenely fair. The music ceased; but oft their murmuring song Plays 'mong the trembling chords of fancy's lyre. O, memory! to whom these strains belong,

E'er warm this altar with thy kindling fire. Let sorrow's gathering clouds o'erspread the soul, And make it shudder 'neath the threat'ning blast; But hide not from my vision memory's scroll:

O, may that picture brighten to the last. The strong, resistless currents of the heart,

The ever shifting course of passion's wind, That spurn the feeble guide of reason's chart,

And leave naught but a roving wreck behind:
Here may the wandering soul a refuge find,

Securely staid by memory's magic chain,
Around whose varied links are close entwined
Joys that have fled to come no more again.
The past! How sad it falls upon the ear!
The winding sheet of millions in the tomb,
Ambition's requiem, proud glory's bier,

It spreads over all its deep oblivious gloom.

ties.

Ah, Death! how soon he chills the clasped hand!
"Tis when love's flame glows brightest that it dies.
Though they were earth's no more, around each head
The circling wreaths of friendship yet were green;
And Death's dark, cheerless tracery had fled

From forms now glowing bright with heav'nly sheen.

Methought the stirring music of their lyres

Recalled the blissful memories of the past, And roused into a flame the kindling fire

So long suppressed beneath death's chilling blast.
My soul, enraptured, drank the flowing strain:
The trembling heart-strings chimed in unison:
Fain would my soul for ever there remain,
To hear the songsters as they thus begun:

Welcome to our sacred shore,
Thou wanderer from earth,
Join our little band, and o'er
Earth's dreary desert roam no more,
Far from thy native hearth.

* Delivered at the annual meeting of the alumni of Amenia Seminary.

VOL. VI.-28

Hath closed o'er myriads in the passing year,
And life, to them a troubled, transient dream,
Hath ended, and our tribute is a tear.
How sadly on the ear of musing thought

Falls the remembrance of departed years!
The pride of conquest, glory, fame, are naught

But a slight record, dimmed with sorrow's tears. Where now those valiant kings, who, ages gone,

Swayed with a mighty arm the conqueror's sword? Where now the myriad hosts, who, brave at morn, At eve were weltering in commingled blood? Where now Jerusalem, whose mighty wall

Frowned in defiance o'er the wreck of time? Well might her altars totter to their fall,

When stained with human blood, and steeped in crime.

A few lone, moss-grown columns now remain
Of all that Greece could boast of wealth or art.
Go view her ruined splendor, nor restrain
The bitter tear that will unbidden start.
The conqueror's wreath lies moldering in his clay:
Inspired lips are silent in the tomb:

Thus do earth's gaudy trappings fade away;

And this, vain-glorious victory, is thy doom.

Stand by the marble slab that marks the grave
Of freedom's foe, ambition's servile son,
Where Helena's lone willows sadly wave
O'er the cold relics of Napoleon.
Swift as the passage of a falling star,

He rose, he fought, he conquered, and he fell.
While yet his meteor splendor shone afar,
He, a lone exile, bade the world farewell.
A bleeding nation groaned his funeral knell,
And burning cities were his funeral pyres;

Death only could his restless spirit quell,
And quench ambition's burning, withering fires.
But mid the dark war-tempests of the past,

High in the arch of fame, shines one bright sun: No clouds their shadows o'er its splendor cast: Peerless it beams-the orb of Washington. Grant me no greater pride, no higher aim,

Than worship at thy altar, Liberty!
To feel the heart-strings vibrate at thy name,
And sing the anthem, Washington and thee.
I ask no jeweled crown to deck my brow,
No ermined robe, or empty pageantry;
But crowned with freedom's chaplet, let me bow
Before her shrine a humble votary.

I strayed among the chambers of the dead,
And saw the wreck of human pride-a name;
Where proud Ambition laid his restless head

Beside the beggar's weary, tottering frame.
But, hush! tread lightly! hear that heavy sigh,
And see the weeping maiden kneeling there.
Earth's greatest charm, love's strongest, holiest tie
Is broken, and she bows her head in prayer.
No more the rose of joy illumes her cheeks,

Love's diamond brilliants sparkle in her eye-
No more the halls of gladness now she seeks
To quench the anguish of her burning sigh.
O, who can tell the sorrows of that soul,

Whose very life was nurtured by its love,
When death's cold shadows 'round the loved one roll,
And he lies buried while she weeps above!
She waters with her tears the op'ning rose,
Planted but recently on his new-made tomb,
Tinged with her lover's blood, that brightly glows
Upon the petals crimsoned with its gloom.
And are all here? Let memory recall

The scenes of other years-our schoolboy hours, When hope's false, flattering mirror showed to all A certain future, strewn with joy's gay flowers. Whose eye more dazzled with its inward fire? Where kindled rosy health on warmer cheek? Where swept the strains of love a sweeter lyre, Than in that form we now too vainly seek? What if, at parting, flowed the tears of sorrowWhat though our bosoms heaved the bitter sigh! We hoped, though parting now, to meet to-morrow, And could not dream that they so soon would die. Is there a heart around whose inmost chords Their mem'ries float not like a mournful strain?

How deep with feeling were those parting words,
That bade a "farewell till we meet again!"
O what a cloud of sadness darkens o'er
The soul's bright surface at the word farewell-
To feel that we can hear that voice no more,
Whose sweetness thrilled us with its magic spell-
To know the last, low, trembling word is spoken,
That like a death-knell chills the aching heart!
Then the fond dream of happiness is broken,
And unavailing tears unbidden start.
To some loved ones the last farewell is given,
Whose hopes were brighter, hearts than ours more
gay:

The charm that bound us Death's dread scythe hath riven,

And they are mingling with the senseless clay. Who has not laid in memory's inmost shrine The name of some beloved, departed friend, Round which the heart's strong chords will closely twine,

While life and memory their beams extend? But cease, my muse, thy theme, nor longer sigh O'er the cold grave of long-departed years. The Present beams its light on every eye, Bright'ning at once her joys, and sorrow's tears. Amid time's passing clouds it bright appears, And decks the future with its rainbow light

The arch of hope, that high its splendor rears Above the portals of that depthless night. Unending hope! when sorrow's tempests rise, And spread relentless o'er the trembling soul, Thy bow of promise kindles in the skies,

And gayly tints the future's mystic scroll. Thy ray can pierce the midnight dungeon's gloom, And brighten to a smile its dark despair, Dispel the deathly shadows of the tomb,

And beam in quenchless radiance e'en there. When the soul's dewy sadness fills the eye,

And earthly joys shrink tremblingly away, O how it longs on angel's wings to fly,

Directed by hope's ever kindling ray. Hope on, my ever-trusting spirit, still,

Drink in the music of that heavenly strain, Whose joyful notes the trembling heart-strings thrill, "We'll meet in heaven, to part no more again."

THE JUDGMENT.

BY REV. T. HARRISON.

-

THE judgment day will come

The last loud trumpet soundThe dead shall rise-the Judge descend, With power and glory crowned. Man's sentence shall be passed

Nature's great fabric fallChrist's mediatorial reign shall close, And God be all in all!

219

CONSECRATION OF CHILDREN.

BY MISS M. E. WENTWORTH.

BRING them to Christ-what offering is more meet
Than the sweet meed of childhood innocence?
Shall the pure heart be touched by early sin
Before ye give it back to God, who lent
It you spotless and pure? or will ye wait
Till guilt has garnered up its stores of wrath
Against a rebel soul? or else till care

Has fettered fast your thoughts to earthly good,
So that ye have no sacrifice for God?

Or would ye bring out from the rust of wealth
The cankered gold, or from the hard-wrought
mines,

Where slaves weep tears of blood o'er polished stones,

Your hoarded stores, peerless to worldly eyes;
But to the gem that gilds an angel's crown,
A timid light, shamed by resplendent day?
Or would ye bring treasures of knowledge deep?
Or classic lore that wins an earthly name,
For which ambition sells eternal life?

Gold for the crown that fades when the fleet pulse
Lies still in death! Fame for the wreath that smiles
In summer suns, then dies like beauty's flush
Consumed on hectic cheeks! These for the world!
But not for God! Could gold increase his wealth,
Whose jewels are the stars-whose crown the sun-
Whose truth-taught mirrors are the glassy lakes-
Whose gorgeous halls, strewed with a thousand
flowers,

Are valleys fair, or wooded hills upreared
To heaven-teachers and witnesses for God!
Could the mild dew that weeps on summer flowers
Add to the rain that floods the thirsty earth-
Could a tear swell the ocean's broad expanse-
Could time fill up eternity's abyss,

Then might ye bring for God the wealth of schools:
For him whose eye notes every fleeting thought,
And catches from the tables of the soul

The trace it leaves, as limners sieze the shade
On canvas left.

Mountains of gold, or glory's proudest name,
Weighed with a sinless heart, outbalanced sink!
Dear, meek-eyed mother, with your gentle babe-
Father, whose pulse is bounding high with love,
Come to the shrine of God-your offering bring!
The passions hushed, the will subdued, like waves
In sunlight calm, lulled by the wind's low song-
The rush of thought across the wondering brain,
Soothed by the beating of the light-winged pulse,
Asleep, in dreams of innocence and heaven!
Who for the sinless Dove such offering brings?
Who from his household flock will bring a lamb
For God? Droops the soft lash on dimpled cheek,
Like withering petals round their stems, so thirsts
The fainting soul for heaven's baptismal dew!

PARTING.

To part with those we fondly love;
To utter faint the word farewell;
To feel the heart's quick throbbings beat;
To view the heaving bosom swell;
To press the lips with tearful eye,
And place affection's signet there;
To feel the hand with trembling seized,
While clasped to breathe a silent prayer,
Is sad indeed.

But Hope speeds Time's more sluggish step,
And brings the distant future near:
She spans the intervening space,

That its bright scenes the heart may cheer:
She shows affection's warm embrace,
Where heart to heart thrills joyously,
And love unchanged-save by increase-
Revealed by either sparkling eye,

Which greets return.

And then the long up-treasured tale,
Which mutual joys and griefs revealed,
And thoughts too deep for utterance,

Which till that hour had been concealed,
And all the heart's pure wealth of love,
Which each for other had preserved,
Now mingle in one common stream
Of social bliss, pure, undisturbed
By fear of change.

Thus Hope relieves the present pain,
And soothes the anguished, riven heart;
Thus breathes her genial influence o'er
The scene, when friends are called to part.
Blest herald of a happier day!

I greet thee with a heartfelt glow:
May thy predictions be fulfilled-
Thy visions realized below-

I'll ask no more.

G. W.

THE CHRISTIAN'S HOPE.
O ENVY not the child of mirth,

That revels, as the summer bee,
Upon the fading flowers of earth:

Let heaven-born Hope thy solace be. Sometimes to taste affliction's cup, Perchance may be thy bitter lot; 'Tis then this Hope will bear thee up, And give thee joys that earth hath not. E'en in life's rudest, wildest form, This is the Hope can whisper "peace "Can succor thee amid the storm,

And bid the raging tempest ceaseThis is the Hope that can illume The dark, lone chamber of the graveChase from the future all its gloom, And buoy thee up on Jordan's wave. W. N. H.

NOTICES.

DOWLING'S HISTORY OF ROMANISM.-This is a spirited, well written work, compiled from creditable though not, as we suppose, original sources, and ornamented with very fine steel engravings. Printed on fair type, and on excellent paper, it forms a neat and attractive octavo of some eight or nine hundred pages. It contains some expressions which we should have been reluctant to use, and something of that spirit of censoriousness which characterizes many of the works on this subject. The records of the Roman Church present many black pages; but we should not forget that they are fringed with light. The history of popes is a history of revolting errors; but we must distinguish between the faults of the time and the faults of the men. Calvin burnt Servetus; the Puritans once persecuted Quakers and killed witches. The cardinal principles both of the doctrine and government of the Roman Church we believe to be wrong; yet we cheerfully concede that the former contains much truth and the latter much excellence. Although we are not without serious apprehensions in relation to the increase of Romanism in the United States, we do not entertain as much fear as many. We believe that the spirit of the age will either subvert the institutions of Romanism, or very essentially and beneficially modify them. Who are fiercer or more jealous democrats than the Irish and German Catholics among us? Can they who are accustomed to the exercise of civil rights be long held in ecclesiastical bondage? Can they who enjoy a free interchange of opinion on political topics, and listen to harangues on republican principles, be long blinded and silenced by a priesthood, however ingenious and united? Do we not, in Catholic churches in this country, hear the rumbling that precedes the earthquake, and witness here and there an eruption that indicates pent up and agitated fires, Protestantism is in more danger from Catholic schools than from any other quarter. These, perhaps, indicate design on the part of the Catholic Church more clearly than any other stroke of her policy. She does not found such institutions in Catholic countries, as Spain, Italy, or Ireland. Nor does she establish them here. for her own ignorant youth. If we have been correctly informed, even her orphan asylums are filled with the children of Protestants, while many of her own poor are unprovided for. Her plan of alluring youth to these institutions is indicative of guile; and her policy in proselyting those within them, however insidious, is generally effectual.

We have sometimes thought that in this country too much importance was unwittingly given to the Catholic Church, by declaiming against her political designs, and magnifying her political power: the sure way to make her combine her influence, and to cause politicians to bid high for her suffrages.

Protestants, who have confidence in their principles, are not afraid to meet Catholics upon a fair field, only give us an open Bible, and an unfettered tongue. How does the Catholic priest tremble when he sees the word of life among his people! If Luther cut his way through hosts of enemies in a dark age, and with only the sword of the Spirit, what have we to fear?

It appears to us that any thing calculated to repel the Catholics is fitted to strengthen them; whereas, that treatment which will win their confidence and give us access to them, will surely secure us the victory. And our facilities for this purpose are great. Most of our

Papists are laborers, dependent on Protestants, and many of them are living in the bosom of Protestant families. Let them, then, be treated in the spirit of kindness and charity, and they will soon be capable of reasoning and of being reasoned with on all matters pertaining to their faith.

There is no resisting the light that is pouring in floods upon the world. The institutions, both civil and ecclesiastical, which originated in dark ages, must be modified or overthrown. Names may be retained, and buildings and garments may appear the same; but in principles and spirit old things must pass away-all things must become new, save truth, which is eternal, and, like God, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.

Apparently, indeed, the Catholic Church is putting forth unwonted energies, and making amazing advances; but does the appearance correspond with the reality? While she is gaining extrinsic influence is she not losing intrinsic power? The more she increases her centrifugal force, the less becomes her centripetal. How feeble is her hold upon France and England! By how attenuated an attraction does she draw the turbulent masses of the United States! Her recent conquests among us are like the victory of Pyrrhus over the ancient Romans: they will lead her to sue for peace. They have opened a communication to the heart of Austria, through which Protestant, democratic America will pour hot streams of argument that neither her Church nor state can endure. Already has a second Luther arisen in Germany, who is likely to be a consuming fire to Roman despotism. In vain may European governments suppress American periodicals. If this channel be closed, the stream of republican feeling and argument will break over Catholic Europe through private intercourse; for it is not in Germany alone that it is felt: Italy herself sits upon a political volcano.

We have wandered, and must return. Dowling's work will be found interesting and useful, and, we doubt not, will be extensively read. Perhaps it is better adapted to the popular reader than the work of Dr. Elliott, but will not, we judge, compare with it for accuracy and depth of research. Dr. Elliott had access to original sources, and his work is a monument of scientific labor.

FIRST BOOK OF DRAWING: being Exercises for Chil dren on the Slate and Black-board. By W. and R. Chambers.

INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCES. By W. and R. Chambers.

RUDIMENTS OF ANIMAL PHYSIOLOGY. By Dr. G. Hamilton.

These are numbers two, three, and four of Dr. Reese's improved edition of Chambers' Educational Course. Published by Sorin & Ball. We are very much pleased with these school books. They are designed to introduce the young mind to an acquaintance with nature, and admirably are they adapted to this end. We hope they will be taken into our schoolrooms generally. They will awaken curiosity, excite habits of observation and inquiry, and store the mind with much valuable knowledge.

A YEAR WITH THE FRANKLINS; or, To Suffer and be Strong. By E. Jane Cate. Harper & Brothers. BOARDING OUT; or, Domestic Life. Harper & Brothers.

We suppose these tales are well written, and designed to convey a good moral.