MARILINE.

At the wheel plied Mariline, Beauteous and self-serene, Never dreaming of that mien Fit for lady or for queen.

Never sang she, but her words, Music-laden, swept the chords

Of the heart, that eagerly Stored the subtle melody, Like the honey in the bee; Never spake, but showed that she

Held the golden master-key That unlocked all sympathy

Pent in souls where Feeling glows, Like the perfume in the rose, Like her own innate repose, Like the whiteness in the snows.

Richly thoughted Mariline! Nature's heiress!—nature's queen!