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Tales of mountains of the south,

Spangles of the ore of silver, Which with playful singing mouth,

Thou hast leaped on high to pilfer ?

Mourful Wave! I deemed thy song

Was telling of a floating prison, Which when tempests swept along,

And the mighty winds were risen, Foundered in the ocean's grasp,

While the brave and fair were dying. Wave! didst mark a white hand clasp

In thy folds as thou wert flying ?

Hast thou seen the hallowed rock,

Where the pride of kings reposes, Crowned with many a misty lock,

Wreathed with samphire green and roses ? Or with joyous playful leap

Hast thou been a tribute flinging Up that bold and jutting steep,

Pearls upon the south wind stringing ?

Faded Wave! a joy to thee

Now thy flight and toil are over ! Oh! may my departure be

Calm as thine, thou ocean rover !
When the soul's last joy mirth

On the shore of time is driven,
Be its lot like thine on earth,
To be lost away in heaven.

THE WIFE.

BY A. P. DINNIES.

84

She flung her white arms around him-Thou art all That this poor heart can cling to."

I could have stemmed misfortune's tide,

And borne the rich one's sneer,
Have braved the haughty glance of pride,

Nor shed a single tear.
I could have smiled on every blow

From life's full quiver thrown,
While I might gaze on thee, and know

I should not be “ alone.”

I could I think I could have brooked,

E'en for a time, that thou
Upon my fading face hadst looked

With less of love than now;
For then I should at least have felt

The sweet hope still my own,
To win thee back, and, whilst I dwelt

On earth, not been alone."

But thus to see, from day to day,

Thy brightening eye and cheek, And watch thy life-sands waste away,

Unnumbered, slowly, meek;

To meet thy smiles of tenderness,

And catch the feeble tone
Of kindness, ever breathed to bless,

And feel, I'll be “alone ;"

To mark thy strength each hour decay,

And yet thy hopes grow stronger,
As filled with heaven-ward trust, they say,

“Earth may not claim thee longer ;"
Nay, dearest, 'tis too much-this heart

Must break when thou art gone;
It must not be ; we may not part ;

I could not live “alone !"

SONG OF THE ZEPHYR SPIRIT.

BY W. G. SIMMS.

I come from the deeps where the mermaiden twines,

In her bowers of amber, her garlands of shells : Where the sands are of gold, and of crystal the vines,

And the spirit of gladness unchangingly dwellsI breathed on the harp at Zephyrus' cave,

And the strain, as it rose, glided upward with me; No dwelling on earth, but my home is the wave,

And my couch is the coral grove, deep in the sea.

Thou hast dreamed-hast thou not?-of those wave

girdled bowers, Where all that can win the heart, beams on the sight: Where life is a frolic through fancies and flowers,

And the soul lives in dreams of a lasting delight. Thou wouldst win what thy dreams have long brought

to thy view, Thou wouldst dwell with the moon that now beams

upon thee; To the fears of the earth--to its cares, bid adieu,

Come, rest in the coral grove, deep in the sea.

With my breath I will fan thee when noonday is nigh,

The gentlest of mermaids will lull thee to sleep; She will watch by thy couch when the sun passes by,

Nor fly when the moon leaves her home in the deep. Each joy thou hast sighed for, shall there be thine own,

The sorrows of time from thy slumbers shall flee; Then come with me-win all the pleasures I've shown,

Come, rest in the coral grove, deep in the sea.

SEE IN DISTANCE MILDLY GLEAMING.

BY JAMES H. CLAIBORNE,

See in distance mildly gleaming,

Summer's parting ray,
Forest nigh where two are dreaming ;

Both are flowers of May !

He has left a couch of sorrow

Once again to say,
Wilt thou be mine own to-morrow,

Fairest flower of May ?

Oft he sued and oft was slighted,

Praying day by day,
Yet his hope was ever blighted

By that flower of May.

That flower faded-she's alone,

He is far away ;
No one's there to hear thy moan,

Fickle flower of May.

10*

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