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I have fastened it under thy pinion,

With a blue ribbon round thy soft neck; So go from me, beautiful minion,

While the blue ether shows not a speck: Like a cloud in dim distance fleeting,

Like an arrow he hurries away; And farther, and farther retreating,

He is lost in the clear blue of day.

SPARKLING AND BRIGHT.

BY C. F. HOFFMAN.

Spaekling and bright in liquid light

Does the wine our goblets gleam in,
With hue as red as the rosy bed
Which a bee would wish to dream in.
Then fill to-night with hearts as light,

To loves as gay and fleeting
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.

Oh! if Mirth might arrest the flight

Of Time, through Life's dominions,
We here awhile would now beguile
The Graybeard of his pinions
To drink to-night with hearts as light,
To loves as gay and fleeting

As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.

But since delight can't tempt the wight,

Nor fond regret delay him,
Nor Love himself can hold the elf,
Nor sober Friendship stay him,
We 11 drink to-night with hearts as light,

To loves as gay and fleeting
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.

THE LAST SONG.

BY JAMES Q. BROOKS.

Strike the wild harp yet once again!

Again its lonely numbers pour; Then let the melancholy strain

Be hushed in death for evermore. For evermore, for evermore,

Creative fancy, be thou still; And let oblivious Lethe pour

Upon my lyre its waters chill.

Strike the wild harp yet once again!

Then be its fitful chords unstrung, Silent as is the grave's domain,

And mute as the death-mouldered tongue.

Let not a thought of memory dwell
One moment on its former song;

Forgotten, too, be this farewell,
Which plays its pensive strings along!

Strike the wild harp yet once again!

The saddest and the latest lay;
Then break at once its strings in twain,

And they shall sound no more for aye:
And hang it on the cypress tree,

The hours of youth and song have passed,
Have gone, with all their witchery;

Lost lyre! these numbers are thy last.

DRINK AND AWAY.

BY THE REV. WILLIAM CROSWELL.

[There u a beautiful rill in Barbary received into a largo basin, which bears a name signifying " Drink and away," from the great danger of meeting with rogues and assassins.—Dr. Shaw.]

Up! pilgrim and rover,

Redouble thy haste!
Nor rest thee till over

Life's wearisome waste.
Ere the wild forest ranger

Thy footsteps betray
To trouble and danger,—

Oh, drink and away!

Here lurks the dark savage

By night and by day,
To rob and to ravage,

Nor scruples to slay.
He waits for the slaughter:

The blood of his prey
Shall stain the still water,—

Then drink and away.

With toil though thou languish,

The mandate obey,
Spur on, though in anguish,

There's death in delay!
No bloodhound, want-wasted,

Is fiercer than they :—
Pass by it untasted—

Or, drink and away.

Though sore be the trial,

Thy God is thy stay, Though deep the denial,

Yield not in dismay,
But, wrapt in high vision,

Look on to the day
When the fountains Elysian

Thy thirst shall aUay.

There shalt thou for ever

Enjoy thy repose Where life's gentle river

Eternally flows.

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Yea, there shall thou rest thee

For ever and aye,
With none to molest thee,—

Then drink and away.

THE WIFE'S SONG.

BY WILLIAM LEGGETT.

As the tears of the even,

Illumined at day
By the sweet light of heaven,

Seem gems on each spray;
So gladness to-morrow

Shall shine on thy brow, The more bright for the sorrow

That darkens it now.

Yet if fortune, believe me,

Have evil in store, Though each other deceive thee,

I'll love thee the more. As ivy leaves cluster

More greenly and fair, When winter winds bluster

Round trees that are bare.

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