POETRY.

Prom rrosc sketchcs and roems.
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 LINES Written on the Mountains west of the Del Norie, April

 10, ia52. The suns last light is in the sky, Yet still his breath IS on my brow; And. warm as iii deaths mockeFy, feel it going past me now. His dying breath still quivers up Above the mountains many crests, Like ruddy wine within cup, That never from it's motion rests. The mountains ri til5 so;ittss:: sf.ress hl.is And indstinct, like waning day And in the east, their snowy hue Is changing into sombre gray All objects. while the shadows play, Grow dim and indistinctly deep; For Naturc's eye is closed, and she inealnes to sleep.

 And sad, slow thoughts come on the heart, Like bees that swarm, one with another, Or waves that with incessant start Chaee, and destroy. each one it's brother The dreams of hope, that daylight nursed, Like other flowers beneath the sun, Have fled like images accursed, Or vanish slowly, one by one; And all the thoughts of wo, that rested Like ficnds asleep, within the breast, Are now with wakefulness invested, And wander in their wild unrest Throughout the heart, which is thoir nest, And worse than this, the wasting food Of these, the vulture-eyed, and all their ra- vening brood.