Away-'tis the glorious vintage time,

The season of mirth and glee; We hie in the morning's early prime,

All carolling merrily;

And at twilight's fall, on our homeward track,
What shouts of mirth arise,

As, crowned with our ruddy baskets, back
In triumph we bring the prize!
Oh! when is the dance so light and gay,
When sing ye so gladsome a song,

As after a sunny and cheering day

'Mid the revelling vintage throng?

Linger not-but away to the vine-clad hill, While the slumbering city lies calm and still!

THE ALPINE HUNTERS.

Suggested by a picture of the "Hunters of the Tyrol,"
by J. F. Lewis, Esq.

LIGHTLY bounding o'er Alpine snow,
We merry, merry mountain-hunters go;
With horn and rifle, at earliest light,
We follow the chamois' fearless flight:
O'er crag and gully-o'er vale and hill,
We merry, merry hunters are chasing still;

Rousing the hawk from her lofty nest,

As we seek our prey on the mountain-crest;
And the startled eagle ascending flies,

With her shrill scream rending the deep-blue skies,

Then pauses-to hear an answer borne

From the merry, merry hunters' echoing horn.

When wounded, at length the quarry falls,
And the note of triumph each bugle calls,
Who thinks of danger-dreams of fears?
Each risk and peril the toil endears;
Wood-rock-and torrent are swiftly past,
At the merry, merry hunters' bugle-blast.

But list that heavy and fearful crash!
The rebounding peal-and lightning-flash!
'Twas an av'lanche fall-and the storm is near-
Night closes and all around is drear:

Yet we care not though wind and tempests come,

For the merry, merry hunters have reached their home!

FARE-THEE-WELL.

FARE-THEE-WELL! and may joy be around thee! For our wishes and prayers shall be thine, That all gladness of earth may surround thee, And thy destiny's star ever shine.

When thy bark on the ocean's careering,

May no tempests or storms sweep the tide,— As a bird to its happy nest steering,

Shall it fleetly and gallantly ride.

And when beneath Italy's bright blue sky,
With exulting delight thou shalt roam,
Oh, forget us not quite-but grant one sigh
To those who will welcome thee home!

Fare-thee-well! the balmy, light southern breeze Shall rejoice as it wafts thee along,

Over Italy's laughing and glittering seas,

To the region of music and song.

Oh, bright be thy life as her cloudless skies, And gay as her children at even,

In the merry dance lit by their flashing eyes, That rival the stars of heaven.

And when tracing back to thy native shore Thy path o'er the ocean-foam,

Oh, do not forget, thy long wanderings o'er, How gladly we'll welcome thee home!