THEY TELL ME THOU’LT FORGET. BY ISAAC FITZGERALD SHEPHARD. THEY tell me thou❜lt forget, But ah! they cannot, cannot tell They tell me thou❜lt forget, When I am from thee gone- Till I no longer share The hopes, the joyous sympathies, They tell me thou'lt forget, When pleasure's sound is heard ;— But none, save me, have ever known O no, thou❜lt not forget, Though flatterers come and go;- THE STARS WERE SHINING BRIGHT, LOVE. BY WILLIAM KEENAN. THE stars were shining bright, love, And all was still below. My lips were pressed to thine, love, And gazing in thine eyes, I read that thou wert mine, love, The stars as bright, may burn, love, Ah! Memory whispers, No. The dream was all too sweet, love; Yet still it checks Time's feet, love, And though we may not feel, love, 'Twere wrong the heart to steel, love, THE LITTLE BEACH BIRD. BY RICHARD H. DANA. THOU little bird, thou dweller by the sea, Why takest thou its melancholy voice? Why with that boding cry O'er the waves dost thou fly? O, rather, bird with me, Through the fair land rejoice! Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and pale, As if thy mates had shared The doom of us. Thy wail- Thou call'st along the sand, and haunt'st the surge, Restless and sad; as if in strange accord With motion, and with roar Of waves that drive to shore, One spirit did ye urge The Mystery-the Word. Of thousands thou, both sepulchre and pall, A tale of mourning tells- Then turn thee, little bird, and take thy flight Where the complaining sea shall sadness bring Thy spirit never more. Come, quit with me the shore, For gladness and the light, Where birds of summer sing. THE AUTUMN EVENING. BY WILLIAM O. B. PEABODY. BEHOLD the western evening light! The winds breathe low; the withering leaf So gently flows the parting breath, How beautiful on all the hills "Tis like the memory left behind When loved ones breathe their last. And now, above the dews of night, And eyelids that are sealed in death |