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Drop after drop, is tinkling down

To kiss the stirring brook,
The water dimples from beneath

With its own joyous look-
And then the kindred drops embrace,

And singing, on they go,
To dance beneath the willow tree,

And glad the vale below.

How beautiful the water is !

It loves to come at night,
To make you wonder in the morn

To see the earth so bright :
To find a youthful gloss is spread

On every shrub and tree,
And flowrets breathing on the air

Their odours pure and free.

A dainty thing the water is,

It loves the flowret's cup,
To nestle mid the odour there,

And fill its petals up-
It hangs its gems on every leaf,

Like diamonds in the sun;
And then the water wins the smile

The flowret should have won.

How beautiful the water is !

To me 'tis wondrous fair---
No spot can ever lonely be,
If water sparkles there-

It hath a thousand tongues of mirth,

Of grandeur, or delight;
And every heart is gladder made,

When water greets the sight.

INDIAN CHANT.

BY H. R. SCHOOLCRAFT.

FIRST VOICE.

THE eagles scream on high,

They whet their forked beaks: Raise-raise the battle cry,

'Tis fame our leader seeks.

SECOND VOICE.

'Tis fame my soul desires,

By deeds of martial strife : Give-give me warlike fires,

Or take-ah take my life.

THIRD VOICE.

The deer a while may go

Unhunted o'er the heath, For now I seek a nobler foe,

And prize a nobler death.

FOURTH VOICE.

Lance and quiver, club and bow,

Now alone attract my sight; I will go where warriors go,

I will fight where warriors fight.

FIFTH VOICE.

Now my heart with valour burns,

I my lance in fury shake; He who falters, he who turns,

Give him fagot, fire, and stake.

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 catch the ruddy beams of day, And steal the rainbow's sweetest shade,

Their blushing favourite to array.

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

Becomes a token fit to tell,
Of things that words can ne'er disclose,

And nought but this reveal so well.

Then take my flower, and let its leaves

Beside thy heart be cherished near, While that confiding heart receives

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,

Upon thy radiant eye,
I thought thou wert a thing of light,

Just wandered from the sky;
And as I looked upon thy brow,

Pure as the skies when bright above,
And on thy warm and floating form,

I dared to dream of love.

I would not breathe, oh! lady fair,

A single thought to thee,
To shadow o'er within thy heart

Its sunny fount of glee:
For though I feel thy gentle thoughts

To one like me may never rove,
Thy floating form, like sunlight warm,

Still melts my heart to love.

Around thy heart, oh! lady fair,

May lovely dreams be flung;
And sweeter thoughts around it cling,

Than ever poet sing.
I need not wish a brighter spell

Of loveliness about thee move,
For round thy form there lurks a charm
That melts all hearts to love.

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