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Yea, there shalt thou rest thee
For ever and aye,
Then drink and away.
THE WIFE'S SONG.
BY WILLIAM LEGGETT.
As the tears of the even,
Illumined at day
Seem gems on each spray;
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
Inquiring for thy sight.
Can bless no glance of mine,
My eyes are seeking thine.
I hope-how vain the hope, I know
That some propitious chance
Thy sweetness on my glance.
Whate'er be my despair,
Will love thee every where.
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?
Across each animated brow;
“ Would he were with us now !"
Yet chase away each vain regret,
And let each heart be gay ;
Each anxious thought repay.
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 !
Are present to our gaze.
His form, is it not gliding there?
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;
I come at each return of this blest day,
The pious debt of sorrowing thought to pay,
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.