When hearts, whose truth was proven,
Like thine, are laid in earth,
There should a wreath be woven
To tell the world their worth.

And I, who woke each morrow
To clasp thine hand in mine,
Who shared the joy and sorrow,
Whose weal and wo were thine-

It should be mine to braid it
Around thy faded brow;
But I've in vain essayed it,
And feel I cannot now.

While memory bids me weep thee,
Nor thoughts nor words are free,
The grief is fixed too deeply

That mourns a man like thee.

FITZ GREENE Halleck.

THE MEMORY OF THE HEART.

F stores of dry and learned lore we gain,

We keep them in the memory of the brain;

Names, things, and facts—whate'er we knowledge
call-

There is the common ledger for them all;
And Images on this cold surface traced

Make slight impression, and are soon effaced.

But we've a page, more glowing and more bright,
On which our friendship and our love to write;
That these may never from the soul depart,
We trust them to the memory of the heart.
There is no dimming, no effacement there;
Each new pulsation keeps the record clear;
Warm, golden letters all the tablet fill,
Nor lose their lustre till the heart stands still.
DANIEL WEbster.

But now thou art far from me, Robin Adair ;

But now I never see

Robin Adair ;

Yet him I loved so well

Still in my heart shall dwell
O, I can ne'er forget

Robin Adair !

Welcome on shore again, Robin Adair! Welcome once more again,

Robin Adair !

I feel thy trembling hand; Tears in thy eyelids stand, To greet thy native land, Robin Adair.

Long I ne'er saw thee, love, Robin Adair ;

Still I prayed for thee, love, Robin Adair;

When thou wert far at sea,
Many made love to me,
But still I thought on thee,
Robin Adair.

Come to my heart again,
Robin Adair;
Never to part again,

Robin Adair;

And if thou still art true,

I will be constant too,

And will wed none but you,

Robin Adair!

LADY CAROline Keppel,

THE MAID'S REMONSTRANCE.

EVER wedding, ever wooing,
Still a lovelorn heart pursuing,

Read you not the wrong you're doing

In my cheek's pale hue?
All my life with sorrow strewing,
Wed, or cease to woo.

Rivals banished, bosoms plighted
Still our days are disunited;
Now the lamp of hope is lighted,
Now half quenched appears,
Damped and wavering and benighted
Midst my sighs and tears.

Charms you call your dearest blessing,
Lips that thrill at your caressing,
Eyes a mutual soul confessing,

Soon you'll make them grow
Dim, and worthless your possessing,
Not with age, but woe!

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

NO TIME LIKE THE OLD TIME.

'HERE is no time like the old time, when you and I were young,

When the buds of April blossomed, and the birds of springtime sung!

The garden's brightest glories by summer suns are nursed,

But, oh, the sweet, sweet violets, the flowers that opened first!

There is no place like the old place where you and I were born!

Where we lifted first our eyelids on the splendors of the morn,

From the milk-white breast that warmed us, from the clinging arms that bore,

Where the dear eyes glistened o'er us that will look on us no more!

There is no friend like the old friend who has shared our morning days,

No greeting like his welcome, no homage like his praise;

Fame is the scentless sunflower, with gaudy crown of gold,

But friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in every fold.

There is no love like the old love that we courted in our pride;

Though our leaves are falling, falling, and we're fading side by side,

There are blossoms all around us with the colors of

our dawn,

And I sighed to think that the traitor love
Should conquer a heart so light:
But she thought not of the future days of woe,
While she carolled in tones so gay-
"The gathered rose and the stolen heart
Can charm but for a day."

A year passed on, and again I stood
By the humble cottage door;
The maiden sat at her busy wheel,
But her look was blithe no more;
The big tear stood in her downcast eye,
And with sighs I heard her say,
"The gathered rose and the stolen heart
Can charm but for a day."

Oh, well I knew what had dimmed her eye
And made her cheek so pale :
The maid had forgotten her early song,

While she listened to love's soft tale;
She had tasted the sweets of his poisoned cup,
It had wasted her life away-

And the stolen heart, like the gathered rose, Had charmed but for a day.

EMMA C. EMBURY.

AFTON WATER.

LOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes;

Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy
praise;

My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

There are no times like the old times-they shall never be forgot!

There is no place like the old place-keep green the dear old spot!

There are no friends like our old friends-may Heaven prolong their lives!

There are no loves like our old loves-God bless our loving wives!

THE MAIDEN SAT AT HER BUSY WHEEL.

HE maiden sat at her busy wheel, Her heart was light and free, And ever in cheerful song broke forth Her bosom's harmless glee: Her song was in mockery of love, And oft I heard her say,

"The gathered rose and the stolen heart Can charm but for a day."

I looked on the maiden's rosy cheek,
And her lip so full and bright,

Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear;
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills,
Far marked with the courses of clear-winding rills!
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow!
There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave!

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes;
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Robert Burns.

THE WAKEFUL HEART.

'READ lightly, love, when over my head,
Beneath the daisies lying,
And tenderly press the grassy bed
Where the fallen rose lies dying.

Dreamless I sleep in the quiet ground,
Save when, your foot-fall hearing,
My heart awakes to the old-loved sound
And beats to the step that's nearing.

Bright shone the moon, last eve, when you came

Still dust for dust hath feeling

The willow-roots whispered low the name

Of him who weeps while kneeling.

The lily-cup holds the falling tears,
The tears you shed above me ;

And I know through all these silent years
There's some one still to love me.

Oh, softly sigh; for I hear the sound
And grieve me o'er your sorrow :
But leave a kiss in the myrtle mound—
I'll give it back to-morrow.

Whisper me, love, as in moments fled,
While I dream your hand mine taketh;
For the stone speaks false that says,
"I sleep, but my heart awaketh.”

"She's dead;"

DENNAR Stewart.

MINNIE ADAIR.

I thought her so pretty and called her my own,

As the rich sunlight played in and out of her curls,

As her little white feet 'mid the violets shone, And her clear laughter rippled through rubies and pearls.

Through June's golden mazes

Of pansies and daisies

We wandered and warbled our songs on the air; O, the birds, a whole tree full,

Were never more gleeful

Than I and my sweet little Minnie Adair !

They come now and tell me that you're to be wed,
That rank has encircled your brow with its rays,
But when in your beautiful palace you tread,
With many to flatter you, many to praise,

Shall June's golden mazes

Of pansies and daisies,

And the bare-footed playmate who thought you so fair

Who wept at your sadness,

And shared in your gladness

Be lost in their splendor, O Minnie Adair?

LYMAN GOODMAN,

SMILE AND NEVER HEED ME.

'HOUGH, when other maids stand by,
I may deign thee no reply,
Tuin not then away, and sigh--
Smile and never heed me!

If our love indeed, be such,
As must thrill at every touch,
Why should others learn as much ?—
Smile, and never heed me!

Even if, with maiden pride,
I should bid thee quit my side,
Take this lesson for thy guide-

Smile, and never heed me!
But when stars and twilight meet,
And the dew is falling sweet,
And thou hear'st my coming feet-
Then-thou then-mayst heed me!
CHARLES SWAIN.

THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL.

N Richmond Hill there lives a lass
More bright than May-day morn,
Whose charms all other maids surpass-
A rose without a thorn.

This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet,
Has won my right good-will;
I'd crowns resign to call her mine,
Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.

Ye zephyrs gay, that fan the air,

And wanton through the grove,
O, whisper to my charming fair,
I die for her I love.

How happy will the shepherd be

Who calls this nymph his own? O, may her choice be fixed on me! Mine's fixed on her alone.

UNITED LIVES.

JAMES UPTON.

SAD are they who know not love,

But, far from passion's tears and smiles,
Drift down a moonless sea, and pass
The silver coasts of fairy isles.

And sadder they whose longing lips
Kiss empty air, and never touch
The dear warm mouth of those they love,
Waiting, wasting, suffering much!

But clear as amber, sweet as musk,
Is life to those whose lives unite;
They walk in Allah's smile by day,
And nestle in his heart by night.

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

OH! TELL ME NOT OF LOFTY FATE.

H! tell me not of lofty fate,

Of glory's deathless name;
The bosom love leaves desolate

Has naught to do with fame.

Vainly philosophy would soar-
Love's height it may not reach;

The heart soon learns a sweeter lore
Than ever sage could teach.

Man's sterner nature turns away

To seek ambition's goal!

Wealth's glittering gifts, and pleasure's ray,
May charm his weary soul;

But woman knows one only dream-
That broken, all is o'er;

For on life's dark and sluggish stream
Hope's sunbeam rests no more.

SOMEBODY.

EMMA C. EMBURY.

OMEBODY'S courting somebody,

Somewhere or other to night; Somebody's whispering to somebody, Somebody's listening to somebody, Under this clear moonlight.

Near the bright river's flow,
Running so still and slow,
Talking so soft and low,

She sits with somebody.
Pacing the ocean's shore,
Edged by the foaming roar,
Words never used before

Sound sweet to somebody.
Under the maple tree,

Deep though the shadow be,
Plain enough they can see,
Bright eyes has somebody.

No one sits up to wait,
Though she is out so late,
All know she's at the gate,

Talking with somebody.

Tiptoe to parlor door;
Two shadows on the floor!
Moonlight, reveal no more—

Susy and somebody.

Two, sitting side by side, Float with the ebbing tide, "Thus, dearest, may we glide

Through life," says somebody.

Somewhere, somebody
Makes love to somebody,
To-night.

THOUGH LOST TO SIGHT TO MEMORY DEAR.

WEETHEART, good bye! That flut'ring sail
Is spread to waft me far from thee;
And soon, before the farth'ring gale
My ship shall bound upon the sea.
Perchance, all des'late and forlorn,
These eyes shall miss thee many a year;
But unforgotten every charm—

Though lost to sight, to memory dear.

Sweetheart, good bye! one last embrace !
Oh, cruel fate, two souls to sever!
Yet in this heart's most sacred place

Thou, thou alone, shalt dwell forever;
And still shall recollection trace,

In fancy's mirror, ever near,

Each smile, each tear, that form, that faceThough lost to sight, to memory dear. THOMAS MORE.

EVENING SONG.

OOK off, dear Love, across the sallow sands,
And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea;
How long they kiss in sight of all the lands-
Ah! longer, longer we.

Now in the sea's red vintage melts the sun,
As Egypt's pearl dissolved in rosy wine,
And Cleopatra night drinks all. 'Tis done.
Love, lay thine hand in mine.

Come forth, sweet stars, and comfort heaven's heart;
Glimmer, ye waves, round else unlighted sands;

O night! divorce our sun and sky apart

Never our lips, our hands.

SIDNEY LANIER.

A MAIDEN'S IDEAL OF A HUSBAND.

ENTEEL in personage,
Conduct and equipage,
Noble by heritage,

Generous and free:

Brave, not romantic;
Learned, not pedantic ;
Frolic, not frantic ;
This must he be.

Honor maintaining,
Meanness disdaining,
Still entertaining,

Engaging and new.
Neat, but not finical;
Sage, but not cynical;
Never tyrannical,

But ever true.

HENRY CAREY,

લ

NEW LOVELINESS.

E stars that look at me to-night,

How beautiful you seem!

For I have found my spirit's light,

The seraph of my dream.
Oh! never half so bright before
Have I beheld you shine,
For heaven itself looks lovelier,
To lover's eyes like mine!
Alas! I fear when midnight waits
To catch my voice, in vain
The list'ners at your golden gates
Will hear some other twain,
Whose hearts like ours, in melody,
Will sadly throb and sigh,

To see how calmly you behold
E'en lovers kiss, and-die!

EDWARD POLLOCK.

SWEET AND LOW

WEET and low, sweet and low,

Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,

Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go,

Come from the dying moon and blow,

Blow him again to me ;

While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,

Father will come to thee soon:

Rest, rest on mother's breast,

Father will come to thee soon;

Fath will come to his babe in the nest,

Silver sails all out of the west,

Under the silver moon;

Sleep, my little one, sleep my pretty one, sleep.

a

લ

ALFRED TENNYSON.

TO A SISTER.

ES, dear one, to the envied train
Of those around thy homage pay;
But wilt thou never kindly deign

To think of him that's far away?
Thy form, thine eye, thine angel smile,
For many years I may not see;
But wilt thou not sometimes the while,
My sister dear, remember me?
But not in fashion's brilliant hall,
Surrounded by the gay and fair,
And thou the fairest of them all—

O, think not, think not of me there.
But when the thoughtless crowd is gone,
And hushed the voice of senseless glee,
And all is silent, still and lone,

And thou art sad, remember me.

Remember me-but, loveliest, ne'er
When, in his orbit fair and high,
The morning's glowing charioteer
Rides proudly up the blushing sky;
But when the waning moonbeam sleeps
At moonlight on that lonely lea,
And nature's pensive spirit weeps
In all her dews, remember me.
Remember me-but choose not, dear,
The hour when, on the gentle lake,
The sportive wavelets, blue and clear,
Soft rippling, to the margin break;
But when the deaf'ning billows foam
In madness o'er the pathless sea,
Then let thy pilgrim fancy roam
Across them, and remember me.
Remember me-but not to join

If haply some thy friends should praise;
'Tis far too dear, that voice of thine
To echo what the stranger says.
They know us not-but shouldst thou meet
Some faithful friend of me and thee,
Softly, sometimes, to him repeat
My name, and then remember me.
Remember me-not, I entreat,

In scenes of festal week-day joy, For then it were not kind or meet,

Thy thought thy pleasure should alloy,

But on the sacred, solemn day,

And, dearest, on thy bended knee,

When thou for those thou lovs't dost pray,

Sweet spirit, then remember me.

EDWARD EVERETT.

THE RING'S MOTTO.

LOVER gave the wedding-ring

Into a goldsmith's hand.

"Grave me," he said, "a tender thought

Within the golden band."

The goldsmith graved
With careful art-
"Till death us part.”

The wedding-bells rang gladly out.
The husband said, "O wife,
Together we shall share the grief,
The happiness of life.

I give to thee

My hand, and heart,
Till death us part."

'Twas she that lifted now his hand, (O love, that this should be!) Then on it placed the golden band, And whispered tenderly;

"Till death us join,
Lo, thou art mine

And I am thine!