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Let others seek in wealth or fame,
A splendid path whereon to tread— I'd rather wear a lowlier name,
With love's enchantments round it shed. Fame's but a light to gild the grave,
And wealth can never calm the breast; But Love, a halcyon on Life's wave,
Hath power to soothe its strifes to rest.
OH, SAY NOT WE SOON CAN FORGET.
BY T. H. COSHMAN.
Oh, say not we soon can forget
The hearts that were fondly our own, Oh, say not the tear of regret
Is woman's, dear woman's alone! We part, with a smile in our eyes,
Our farewells may lightly be sighed, Yet dreary the tones of the skies,
While forms, though not feelings, divide.
We look then on days that are past,
We feel like a mariner cast
Oh, yes! man, while stemming the storm
Still worships the heart and the form
TO IANTHE IN HEAVEN.
BY E. A. FOE.
Thou wast that all to me, love,
A green isle in the sea, love,
All wreathed around about with flowers—
But the dream, it could not last;
And the star of Hope did rise But to be overcast .
A voice from out the Future cries, "Onward!"—while o'er the Past,
(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies, Mute, motionless, aghast!
For, alas! alas! with me,
Ambition, all, is o'er; "No more, no more, no more"—
And o'er my aching head
The fleecy cloudlets float;
My vanished joys denote;
False, as the love she gave—
And fleeting as the wave!
Far on yon mountain-top
There is a wreath of snow; And on its breast the sun
Pours forth his crimson glow;
With torrid lustre dart—
Upon my frozen heart!
A WEARY TIME IS OURS, MY LOVE.
BY BOBERT M. CHARLTON.
A Weary time is ours, my love,
A weary time is ours;
And withered are its flowers:
The ray that cheered our youthful hearts
Hath vanished from our sight, And hope's refulgent, beaming day
Hath faded into night.
How joyous, in our early youth,
Did all these scenes appear! And what hath called to manhood's eye
The bright, yet mournful tear? Ah, what hath called 1 go ask the heart,
Which, torn by grief and shame, Will answer, joy is but a spell
That passeth as it came.
Well, let it pass: a few more suns
Will change again the scene, And we shall pass from earth's vile dross,
To purer " ray serene:"
O'er life's dull path may roam,
A day's march nearer home."