Yea, there shalt thou rest thee

For ever and aye,
With none to molest thee, -

Then drink and away.

THE WIFE'S SONG.

BY WILLIAM LEGGETT.

As the tears of the even,

Illumined at day
By the sweet light of heaven,

Seem gems on each spray;
So gladness to-morrow

Shall shine on thy brow, The more bright for the sorrow

That darkens it now.

Yet if fortune, believe me,

Have evil in store, Though each other deceive thee,

I'll love thee the more. As ivy leaves cluster

More greenly and fair, When winter winds bluster

Round trees that are bare.

I KNOW THAT THOU ART FAR AWAY.

BY JAMES NACK.

I know that thou art far away,

Yet in my own despite
My still expectant glances stray

Inquiring for thy sight.
Though all too sure that thy sweet face

Can bless no glance of mine,
At every turn, in every place,

My eyes are seeking thine.

I hope-how vain the hope, I know

That some propitious chance
May bring thee here again to throw

Thy sweetness on my glance.
But, loveliest one, where'er thou art,

Whate'er be my despair,
Mine eyes will seek thee, and my heart

Will love thee every where.

A HEALTH.

BY MISS ELIZABETH C. CLINCH.

Fill high the cup!--the young and gay

Are met with bounding hearts to-night; And sunny smiles around us play,

And eyes are sparkling bright : Let wit and song the hours beguile,

But yet, amid this festal cheer, Oh, let us pause to think awhile

Of him who is not here.

Fill high the cup!--yet ere its brim

One young and smiling lip has pressed, Oh, pledge each sparkling drop to him

Now far o'er ocean's breast ! The cordial wish each lip repeats,

By every heart is echoed here; For none within this circle beats,

To whom he is not dear.

A sudden pause in festive glee

What thought hath hushed the thought of mirth, Hath checked each heart's hilarity,

And given to sadness birth?
O! read it in the shades that steal

Across each animated brow;
The wish none utters, yet all feel,

“ Would he were with us now !"

Yet chase away each vain regret,

And let each heart be gay ;
Trust me, the meeting hour shall yet

Each anxious thought repay.
Is not his spirit with us now?

Yes! wheresoe'er his footsteps roam, The wanderer’s yeaming heart can know

No resting-place--but home!

Then smile again, and let the song

Pour forth its music sweet and clearWhat magic to those notes belong

Which thus chain every ear! Soft eyes are filled with tears-what spell

So suddenly hath called them there? That strain-ah, yes ! we know it well;

It is his favourite air.

With every note how forcibly

Return the thoughts of other days !
The shaded brow, the drooping eye,

Are present to our gaze.
With all around his looks are blent;

His form, is it not gliding there?
And was it not his voice which sent

That echo on the air?

One wish, with cordial feeling fraught

Breathe we for him ere yet we part, That for each high and generous thought

That animates his heart,

That Power which gives us happiness,

A blessing on his head would pour ! Oh! could affection wish him less ?

Yet, could we ask for more?

LOVED, LOST ONE, FARE THEE WELL.

BY JOHN INMAN.

LOVED, lost one, fare thee well-too harsh the doom

That called thee thus in opening life away;
Tears fall for thee; and at thy early tomb

I come at each return of this blest day,
When evening hovers near, with solemn gloom,

The pious debt of sorrowing thought to pay,
For thee, blest spirit, whose loved form alone
Here mouldering sleeps, beneath this simple stone.

But memory claims thee still ; and slumber brings

Thy form before me as in life it came ; Affection conquers death, and fondly clings

Unto the past, and thee, and thy loved name; And hours glide swiftly by on noiseless wings,

While sad discourses of thy loss I frame, With her the friend of thy most tranquil years, Who mourns for thee with grief too deep for tears.

Sunday evening.