For The Album of Miss E. L. B--

Is there, in all the skies, a star
That envies not the Queen of Heaven,
As nightly, on her silver car,
Through their retiring ranks she's driven?


There is:--for, though a countless train,
That sparkled ere she rose to view,
Grow pale with envy when the plain
Is sprinkled with her light and dew,


One stands unmoved, and sees her roll,
Nor will retire, nor yet attend her;
'T is she whose lamp illumes the pole
With modest but eternal splendor.


Springs there a plant or flower to light,
Whose bosom, all unknown to guile,
Is bathed in the pure tears of Night,
And dried in Morning's cheerful smile,--


Whether that plant or blossom throws
Its fragrance over hill or dale,--
That envies not to see the Rose
Unfold her leaves and woo the gale,


When on her green and graceful stem
She hangs, her native bush adorning,
Sparkling with many a dewy gem,
And blushing with the beams of morning?


Yes, there is one, and one alone;--
Mimosa, pride of vegetation,
Boasts higher honors of her own;
Hers is the honor of sensation.


And is there one whose peace the glare
Of others' beauty never mars?
One of the blooming, sparkling fair,
Whose emblems are the flowers and stars?


Yes:--there is one; 't is she who shrinks
From even admiration's gaze,
Who courts the shade, who feels, who thinks,
And spreads her hands to heaven in praise;


'T is she whose spirit dwells on high,
Even in the thoughtful nights of youth;
'T is she whose mild and constant eye
Beams with the faithful light of truth.


Heaven's brilliant lights, Earth's blooming flowers,--
These shall all fade, and those shall fall:--
The moral beauty that is ours
Shall flourish o'er the tomb of all.