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SHADOWS.

BY H. HASTINGS WELD.

"What shadows wo are, and what shadows we pursue.''

Skieting with gold Heaven's tranquil blue,

Aurora opes the smiling dawn: Through drapery of resplendent hue,

Hope breaks—the sun of manhood's morn.
As pale the stars before the day,

Melting to nothing in its eye,
So fade in young hope's glowing ray.

The stars that gemmed the infant's sky.
Long, pleasant shadows throws the morning sun—
Hope too, foreshadows large, the good unwon.

The sun has risen above the wave—

It looks down on the mountain's brow— The shadow that the morning gave

In measure vast—where is it now?
So shrinks hope's promise—still is man

Panting in his meridian day—
The phantoms with which morn began

In hope's bright dawning—where are they; Noon breaks the word of promise made to mora: Hope of its gaudy dawn-dreams all, is shorn.

As gilds the west Sol's fading light,

Strong shadows back on earth are cast: Hope turns to Heaven in ardour bright—

Vesting in twilight shades the past: Eve welcomes, in its holy gloom,

The birth-night of another dawn— Hope's setting rays the grave illume,

From whence will break eternal mom: Shadowless day the waking soul will view— Man, perfect made, will shades no more pursue.

FLORENCE VANE.

BY F. P. COKE.

I Loved thee long and dearly,

Florence Vane;
My life's bright dream and early

Hath come again;
I renew in my fond vision

My heart's dear pain,
My hopes, and thy derision,

Florence Vane.

The ruin lone and hoary,

The ruin old
Where thou didst hark my story,

At even told—

That spot—the hues Elysian

Of sky and plain— I treasure in my vision,

Florence Vane.

Thou wast lovelier than the roses

In their prime;
Thy voice excelled the closes

Of sweetest rhyme;
Thy heart was as a river

Without a main.
Would I had loved thee never,

Florence Vane!

But fairest, coldest, wonder!

Thy glorious clay
Lieth the green sod under—

Alas the day!
And it boots not to remember

Thy disdain—
To quicken love's pale ember,

Florence Vane.

The lilies of the valley

By young graves weep,
The daisies love to dally

Where maidens sleep;
May their bloom, in beauty vying,

Never wane
Where thine earthly part is lying,

Florence Vane!

THE LOVER'S FAREWELL.

BY S. W. CONE.

Farewell! Farewell! Such is the tone
That swells but once, and 's heard no more;

When all ties break, 'tis sadly thrown
The last on life's receding shore,

But only falls to break the last,

And sever love from all that's past!—

Farewell! Farewell! it hymns the dirge
That floats around affection's bier,

When passion's impulse fails to urge,
And nought but memory 's left that's dear;

While lowly lies the form of love,

And cold indifference sneers above.

Farewell! Farewell! So angels sung,
When forth on winds of wrath they flew,

And love of woman from them wrung
To paradise a last adieu;

They bought with an eternal fall,

A year of joy in beauty's thrall.'

Farewell! Farewell! though sadly sweet
The word floats on the evening air,

Its sorrow Ml fade when next we meet,
And double sweetness will be there!—

Till then, love's thoughts, like angels, guard,

And from thee ev'ry sorrow ward!

THE WILD HONEYSUCKLE.

BY PHILIP fRENEAD.

Fair flower, that dost so comely grow,

Hid in this silent, dull retreat, Untouched, thy honeyed blossoms blow,

Unseen, thy little branches greet:
No roving foot shall find thee here,
No busy hand provoke a tear.

By Nature's self in white arrayed,
She bade thee shun the vulgar eye,

And planted here the guardian shade,
And sent soft waters murmuring by;

Thus quietly thy summer goes,

Thy days declining to repose.

Smit with those charms, that must decay,

I grieve to see your future doom; They died—nor were those flowers less gay,

The flowers that did in Eden bloom; Unpitying frosts, and autumn's power, Shall leave no vestige of this flower.

From morning suns and evening dews

At first thy little being came: If nothing once, you nothing lose,

For when you die you are the same; The space between is but an hour, The frail duration of a flower.

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