SCENE ON THE OHIO.

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BY GEO. D. PRENTICE.

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It is a glorious eve—the stream

Without a murmur wanders by,

And on its breast, with softened beam,

The sleeping stars so sweetly lie,

’Twould seem as if the tempest’s plume

Had swept through woods of tropic bloom,

And scattered down their blossoms bright

To sleep upon the waves to-night.

And see—as hangs the moon aloft,

Her beams come gushing through the air

So mild, so beautifully soft,

That wood and stream seem stirred with prayer,

And the pure spirit, as it kneels

At Nature’s holy altar, feels

Religion’s self come floating by

In every beam that cleaves the sky.

There’s glory in each cloud and star,

There’s beauty in each wave and tree,

And gentle voices from afar

Are borne like angel-minstrelsy;

In such a spot, at such an hour,

My spirit feels a spell of power,

And all beneath, around above,

Seems earthly bliss and heavenly love.

Oh, Mary, idol of my life,

My heart’s young mate, my soul’s sweet bride,

Dear soother of my spirit’s strife,

I would that thou wert by my side,

And I would kneel on this green sod

In love to thee and praise to God,

And, gazing in thy gentle eyes,

Dream but of thee and Paradise.

I see thy name in yon blue sky,

In every sound thy name I hear,

All nature paints it to my eye

And breathes it in my listening ear;

I read it in the moon’s sweet beam,

The starlight prints it on the stream,

And wave and breeze and singing bird

Speak to my soul the blesséd word.

THE QUEEN OF THE WOODS.