THE BLIND GIRL.

BEREFT of sight, I grope along

In darkness, 'neath the sun's bright rays;

Alike to me are nights or days,

Deserted hall or gayest throng;

My rayless eyes are turned in vain

To heaven! Of what do I complain?

Sweet sounds delight my quickened ear;

A touch, how exquisitely clear

To me it speaks; - for me the rose

Doth all its rich perfume unclose.

In lonely dell, all else is still,

Is heard the music of the rill;

The babble of the tiny brook,

Just where the streamlet first forsook

The parent spring to wander free

In rippling cadence to the sea.

In sunny meadows oft I hear

The bobolink's hilarious song

Incessant all the day livelong,

In June (the longest of the year),

And wonder if his summer coat

Is gayer than his joyous note,

So grand he doth appear.

At twilight vesper hymns arise

From many a hidden hermit's throat;

Away, up, up, they seem to float,

Far, far above the skies.

I cannot feel the fleecy cloud,

The lightning's flash, the pale moonbeams;

To me, O, how mysterious seems

The firmament with stars endowed,

That greet the sight at eventide;

The blue mist on the mountain-side;

White sails that down the river glide!

When shall I see with wondering eyes

The lily in its proud array,

The rose's blush, the light of day? -

When I awake in Paradise.

A. L. H.