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!

Here lurks the dark savage

By night and by day,
To rob and to ravage,

Nor scruples to slay.
He waits for the slaughter:

The blood of his prey
Shall stain the still water,

Then drink and away.

With toil though thou languish,

The mandate obey,
Spur on, though in anguish,

There's death in delay!
No bloodhound, want-wasted,

Is fiercer than they :
Pass by it untasted-
Or, drink and

away.

Though sore be the trial,

Thy God is thy stay,
Though deep the denial,

Yield not in dismay,
But, wrapt in high vision,

Look on to the day
When the fountains Elysian

Thy thirst shall allay.

There shalt thou for ever

Enjoy thy repose Where life's gentle river Eternally flows.

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.