FOURTH VOICE. Lance and quiver, club and bow, I will go where warriors go, I will fight where warriors fight. FIFTH VOICE. Now my heart with valour burns, SIXTH VOICE. See my visage scarred and red See my brows with trophies brightSuch the brows that warriors dread, Such the trophies of the fight. THE SPORTIVE SYLPHS. BY S. G. GOODRICH. THE sportive sylphs that course the air, Unseen on wings that twilight weaves, Around the opening rose repair, And breathe sweet incense o'er its leaves. With sparkling cups of bubbles made, They gather gems with sunbeams bright, From floating clouds and falling showers, They rob Aurora's locks of light To grace their own fair queen of flowers. Thus, thus adorned, the speaking rose Of things that words can ne'er disclose, Then take my flower, and let its leaves The thought it whispers to thine ear. WHEN FIRST I GAZED, OH! LADY FAIR. BY AMELIA B. WELBY. WHEN first I gazed, oh! lady fair, I thought thou wert a thing of light, And as I looked upon thy brow, Pure as the skies when bright above, I would not breathe, oh! lady fair, To shadow o'er within thy heart For though I feel thy gentle thoughts Around thy heart, oh! lady fair, Than ever poet sung. I need not wish a brighter spell Of loveliness about thee move, For round thy form there lurks a charm DO I LOVE THEE? BY MRS. V. E. HOWARD. IF to feel the deep devotion Every look, and every sign, Once the future spread before me Of Corinne's wreath of bay; Now such thought seems worthless vision, If but thy praise crowns my lay. SHOULD SORROW O'ER THY BROW. BY J. H. BRIGHT. SHOULD Sorrow o'er thy brow Fade like the hues of even, There's rest for thee in Heaven! If ever life shall seem To thee a toilsome way, O'er shoreless ocean driven, Raise thou thine eye above, There's rest for thee in Heaven! But oh! if thoughtless flowers Unstained by earthly gloom; Thy better rest in Heaven! |