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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.
Melting to nothing in its eye,
The stars that gemmed the infant's sky.
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?
Panting in his meridian day—
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.
BY F. P. COKE.
I Loved thee long and dearly,
Hath come again;
My heart's dear pain,
The ruin lone and hoary,
The ruin old
At even told—
That spot—the hues Elysian
Of sky and plain— I treasure in my vision,
Thou wast lovelier than the roses
In their prime;
Of sweetest rhyme;
Without a main.
But fairest, coldest, wonder!
Thy glorious clay
Alas the day!
The lilies of the valley
By young graves weep,
Where maidens sleep;
THE LOVER'S FAREWELL.
BY S. W. CONE.
Farewell! Farewell! Such is the tone
When all ties break, 'tis sadly thrown
But only falls to break the last,
And sever love from all that's past!—
Farewell! Farewell! it hymns the dirge
When passion's impulse fails to urge,
While lowly lies the form of love,
And cold indifference sneers above.
Farewell! Farewell! So angels sung,
And love of woman from them wrung
They bought with an eternal fall,
A year of joy in beauty's thrall.'
Farewell! Farewell! though sadly sweet
Its sorrow Ml fade when next we meet,
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:
By Nature's self in white arrayed,
And planted here the guardian shade,
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.