ELIZABETH F. ELLET.1 [Daughter of Dr. Lummis; married at an early age Dr. Ellet, then Professor of Chemistry in Columbia College, New York. Began writing for magazines in 1833; and since then has published Poems, Translated and Original, 1835; The Women of the American Revolution, 1848; and various other works]. SONNET. O WEARY heart, there is a rest for thee! Where storms that vex the waters never come. There flower-wreathed hills in sunlit beauty sleep; There meek streams murmur through the verdant glade; There heaven bends smiling o'er the placid deep. Winnowed by wings immortal that fair isle; Vocal its air with music from above; There meets the exile eye a welcoming smile; 1 Up to this point, our authors have been arranged in sequence, according to actual or approximate date of birth. I am unable to give the like date as regards Mrs. Ellet and the ensuing writers. The ladies, with the exception of Alice Neal, are all included in Mr Griswold's Femele Poets of America, edition of 1854. SARAH HELEN WHITMAN. [Daughter of a merchant, Mr. Nicholas Power. Married at an early age Mr. J. Winslow Whitman, a barrister, who died not long afterwards. In some of her poems, Mrs. Whitman has had the coöperation of her sister, Miss Anna Marsh Power. She was known as an authoress in 1840, if not before]. SUMMER'S INVITATION TO THE ORPHAN. THE summer skies are darkly blue, Then, when the little orphan wakes, 66 Beneath my vaulted azure dome, "I'll fill thy little longing arms The orphan hears that wooing voice: Then hastens down the sunny slopes There all things whisper pleasure: the tree And the little birds are singing In the dim and leafy bowers. The brook stays him at the crossing And the pebbles leap around him, At night no cruel hostess Receives him with a frown; He sleeps where all the quiet stars The Moon comes gliding through the trees, Her dainty silver kirtle Upon his grassy bed, The drowsy night wind murmuring A SONG OF SPRING. IN April's dim and showery nights, Of wandering perfumes, faint and rare Sweet springtime perfumes, such as won When light winds rift the fragrant bowers And dropping pearls at every breath; When all night long the boughs are stirred And the heart flutters like a bird With its sweet, passionate unrest— Oh! then, beloved, I think on thee, Had gathered in hope's golden air. I think on thee and thy lone grave And still, though only clouds remain I linger till night's waning stars Have ceased to tremble through the gloom, Till through the orient's cloudy bars I see the rose of morning bloom. All flushed and radiant with delight, As on the hills of paradise. Lo! like a dewdrop on its breast The morning star of youth and love, Melting within the rosy east, Exhales to azure depths above. My spirit, soaring like a lark, Sweet-missioned star! thy silver beams And through the golden gate of dreams T. H. CHIVERS. volume named The another afterwards Domestic bereave [This author, who is a physician, published a Lost Pleiad, and other Poems, in 1845; and under the unaccountable title Eonchs of Ruby. ments are a predominant topic of Dr. Chivers. He is a facile unselect writer, not unfrequently unbalanced, or even absurd: yet he shows a certain genuine gift of lithe and sonorous versification, and the quick susceptibilities of a man of heart and talent]. APOSTROPHE TO TIME. ETERNITY'S lost child, who full of years From age to age, through this dark vale of tears, CAROL. OH for an angel's wing, That, like the frightened dove, Swift as an arrow's flight Shot from an Indian's bow, As when an eagle springs, Snatching from earth his prey- |