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THE MELLOW HORN.

BY GEORGE W. HYATT.

Ar dawn, Aurora gaily breaks,

In all her proud attire,
Majestic o'er the glassy lakes,

Reflecting liquid fire;
All nature smiles, to usher in

The blushing queen of morn,
And huntsmen with the day begin

To wind the Mellow Horn.

At eve when gloomy shades obscure

The tranquil shepherd's cot, When tinkling bells are heard no more,

And daily toil forgot ; 'Tis then the sweet enchanting note,

On zephyrs gently borne, With witching cadence seems to float

Around the Mellow Horn.

At night when all is hushed and drear,

And starlight on the deep; When lambkins housed from every fear,

Are lulled in balmy sleep; 'Tis then the plighted lover flies,

With flaxen locks unshorn, Beneath the cottage window sighs,

And winds the Mellow Horn.

THE SNOW DROP.

BY MISS HELEN MATHEWS.

A SNOW-FLAKE fell from the summer sky,

As though it had burst its chain,
Where it lies enthralled in the realms on high

Until winter appears again.

F

It chanced to fall in a garden fair,

Where every flowret grew, Watched by a guardian angel's care,

Who bathed them all in dew;

It rested near a blooming rose,

That shed its fragrance round, Folding its leaves in soft repose

To a fountain's silvery sound.

The angel smiled on it resting there,

And thus addressed the snow :“What dost thou here, fair child of air,

While the summer sunbeams glow?"

The snow-flake said, “Thy flowers have died,

“ From the scorching sun on high; “And, when above, I have often sighed “ To see their colours fly.

“ Then I vowed to visit the earth, and give

** New life to each rosy flower, “Bidding each drooping blossom live

“To deck the angel's bower.

As the snow-flake spake; the flowers, that lay

All withering on the ground,
Bloomed with the blush of a new-born day,

And brightness reigned around.

Then the angel said, “If thou'lt stay with me,

“ Sweet pitying spirit of air, “A beauteous form I'll give to thee,

“ Than all these flowers more fair."

Waving her hand, there rose to view,

In the place where the snow-flake came, A pure white flower, fresh crowned with dew;

And the SNOW-DROP is its name.

THE CAPTIVE CHIEF.

BY WILLIAM PITT PALMER.

PALE was the hue of his faded cheek,

As it leaned on its cold damp pillow; And deep the heave of its troubled breast,

As the lift of the ocean billow :

For he thought of the days when his restless foot

Through the pathless forest bounded, And the festive throng by the hunting-fire,

Where the chase-song joyously sounded.

He had stood in the deadly ambuscade,

While his warriors were falling around him ; He had stood unmoved at the torturing stake,

Where the foe in his wrath had bound him; He had mocked at pain in every form

Had joyed in the post of danger; But his spirit was crushed by the dungeon's gloom,

And the chain of the ruthless stranger.

A ROUND.

BY J. K. PAULDING.

MARRIAGE is like a flaming candle-light
Placed in the window on a winter's night,
Inviting all the insects of the air
To come and singe their pretty ringlets there
Those that are out, butt heads against the pane,
Those that are in, butt to get out again.

SLEEP ON.

BY JOHN 0. SARGENT.

SLEEP on-sleep happily on,

Untroubled by the cares of day,
While thy free spirit wings its way

Then to me!

Dream on-but dream of me!

As all my dreams of dear delight,
Through the sweet slumbers of the night,

Are of thee!

HER LOVER DIED.

BY. J. G. WHITTIER.

Her lover died. Away from her,

The ocean-girls his requiem sang, And smoothed his dreamless sepulchre

Where the tall coral branches sprang.

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