



Produced by David T. Jones, Ross Cooling, Mardi Desjardins
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                           GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
                Vol. XLI.      August, 1852.      No. 2.


                           Table of Contents

              Departed Joys
              Midsummer Days
              Widows
              Astronomy
              Hymn to the Sun
              Antony and Cleopatra
              The Two Birds.—A Street Lyric.
              Miss Harper’s Maid
              “Whatever He Doeth Shall Prosper.”
              The Useful Arts
              To a Whip-Poor-Will Singing in a Grave-Yard
              Hesperius—A Vision
              The Pedant
              Life’s Battle March
              The Harvest of Gold
              Seminole War Song
              Stability
              Lines
              Sonnet—Virtue
              The Shark and His Habits
              The Fountain of Youth
              Hush! Hush!
              Annie Morton
              Adieu
              The Ranger’s Chase
              Impressions of England
              Sonnet.—Cydnus.
              Nelly Nowlan on Bloomers
              Yesterday—To-day—To-morrow!
              Among the Moors
              The Old Man’s Evening Thoughts
              My First Inkling of a Royal Tiger
              Review of New Books
              The Aztec Children
              Graham’s Small-Talk

       Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook.




[Illustration: =BELLA.=]

                 *        *        *        *        *

[Illustration: =FIRST AFFECTION.=]

                 *        *        *        *        *

[Illustration: DEPARTED JOYS.]




                            =DEPARTED JOYS.=


                =FROM THE MELODIES OF SIR H. R. BISHOP.=

[Illustration]

                    Could we recal departed joys,
                      At price of parted pain,
                    Oh who that prizes happy hours,
                      Would live his life again?
                    Such

[Illustration]

                 burning tears as once we shed
                   No pleasures can repay;
                 Pass to oblivion, joy and grief!
                   We’re thankful for today.

                 Calm be the current of our lives,
                   As rivers deep and clear;
                 Mild be the light upon our path,
                   To guide us and to cheer!
                 For streams of joy that burst and foam
                   May leave their channels dry.
                 And deadliest lightnings ever flash
                   The brightest in the sky!

                           GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.

                 *        *        *        *        *

          Vol. XLI.     PHILADELPHIA, AUGUST, 1852.     No. 2.

                 *        *        *        *        *

[Illustration]




                           =MIDSUMMER DAYS.=


                I scent the ancient sward!
                  I feel it ’neath my tread!
                The moss, the wiry nard,
                  And the harebells bend their head!

                I see the foxgloves glow,
                Where plow did never go;
                And the streams, the streams once more,
                Hurrying brightly o’er
                Their sandy beds; they roll
                With the joy of a living soul.
                Ye know that wood-walk sweet,
                Where we are wont to meet;
                On either hand the knolls and swells
                Are crimson with the heather-bells;
                    And the eye sees,
                    Mid distant trees,
                Where moorland beauty dwells.

                 *        *        *        *        *




                               =WIDOWS.=


                        =BY THOMPSON WESTCOTT.=


[Illustration]

The word widowhood, from whatever angle of observation it maybe viewed,
has about it a dull, bleak, uncomfortable aspect. Clouds encompass it.
Wo englooms it. Loneliness isolates it from social comfort, and befogs
it amidst lowering disquiet. It floats amidst tears on a dusky day, like
a solitary buoy on the salt sea.

We speak of widowhood which is really such. There are philosophers, who
are willing to wager that the solitary state is the most delightful of
existence. To them, wedlock is a fast bind fast find condition, in which
two persons are confined by a clerical jailor, who condemns them to
imprisonment for life, and then throws away the key. They transform
“wedlock” to “padlock;” and though there is no parautopticism about the
wards and chambers of affection, they consider the matrimonial lock, one
which may bid defiance to the most dexterous Hobbs. Yet we know that to
every heart there is a master-key. Lucky is he who keeps it in his own
possession without a necessity for its use; and happy is he who needs
not the services of some legal lock-picker to release him ere the coming
of the great skeleton-key carrier—Death.

But sentimental prosing is not our purpose. Widowhood has its bright
side, though many look too steadily at