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Why should we sigh,..

Woodman, spare that tree,..

When on thy bosom I recline,.....

When morning, like a blushing bride,....
While zephyrs fan the verdant groves,

Woman! I've held thy hand in mine,.

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When first I gazed, oh! lady fair,...

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What is that, mother,...

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When those dreams that enchant,.

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Your heart is a music-box, dearest,....

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AMERICAN MELODIES.

THE CARRIER PIGEON.

BY JAMES G. PERCIVAL.

COME hither, thou beautiful rover,
Thou wand'rer of earth and of air;
Who bearest the sighs of a lover,

And bringest him news from his fair.
Bend hither thy light-waving pinion,
And show me the gloss of thy neck;
O perch on my hand, dearest minion,
And turn up thy bright eye and peck.

Here is bread of the whitest and sweetest,
And there is a sip of red wine;

Though thy wing is the lightest and fleetest,
"Twill be fleeter when nerved by the vine:
I have written on rose-scented paper,
With thy wing quill, a soft billet-doux,
I have melted the wax in love's taper,

'Tis the colour of true hearts, sky blue.

I have fastened it under thy pinion,
With a blue ribbon round thy soft neck;
So go from me, beautiful minion,

While the blue ether shows not a speck:
Like a cloud in dim distance fleeting,
Like an arrow he hurries away;
And farther, and farther retreating,
He is lost in the clear blue of day.

SPARKLING AND BRIGHT.

BY C. F. HOFFMAN.

SPARKLING and bright in liquid light
Does the wine our goblets gleam in,

With hue as red as the rosy bed

Which a bee would wish to dream in.
Then fill to-night with hearts as light,
To loves as gay and fleeting

As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.

Oh! if Mirth might arrest the flight

Of Time, through Life's dominions,

We here awhile would now beguile
The Graybeard of his pinions

To drink to-night with hearts as light,
To loves as gay and fleeting

As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.

But since delight can't tempt the wight,
Nor fond regret delay him,

Nor Love himself can hold the elf,

Nor sober Friendship stay him,

We'll drink to-night with hearts as light,
To loves as gay and fleeting

As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.

THE LAST SONG.

BY JAMES G. BROOKS.

STRIKE the wild harp yet once again!
Again its lonely numbers pour;

Then let the melancholy strain

Be hushed in death for evermore.
For evermore, for evermore,
Creative fancy, be thou still;
And let oblivious Lethe pour
Upon my lyre its waters chill.

Strike the wild harp yet once again!
Then be its fitful chords unstrung,

Silent as is the grave's domain,

And mute as the death-mouldered tongue.

Let not a thought of memory dwell
One moment on its former song;
Forgotten, too, be this farewell,

Which plays its pensive strings along!

Strike the wild harp yet once again!
The saddest and the latest lay;

Then break at once its strings in twain,
And they shall sound no more for aye:
And hang it on the cypress tree,

The hours of youth and song have passed,
Have gone, with all their witchery;
Lost lyre! these numbers are thy last.

DRINK AND AWAY.

BY THE REV. WILLIAM CROSWELL.

[There is a beautiful rill in Barbary received into a large basin, which bears a name signifying "Drink and away," from the great danger of meeting with rogues and assassins.-DR. SHAW.]

UP! pilgrim and rover,
Redouble thy haste!
Nor rest thee till over

Life's wearisome waste.
Ere the wild forest ranger

Thy footsteps betray
To trouble and danger,-

Oh, drink and away!