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THE OLD MAN'S LAMENT.

BY RICHARD PENN SMITH.

My boyhood, my boyhood ! has long since past away, And like the flowers of spring its hours have faded in

decay, And time, with all his promises, hath yielded scarce a

joy That can repay those swept away from me while yet a

boy.

The world lay fresh before me, and like a summer bird, On eager wing I rose to sing where melody was heard. The heavens were calm, the air was balm, the earth

was gemmed with flowers; And shouts of joy without alloy brought on the winged

hours.

But now I mourn my infancy as I my babes deplore, Who like bright visions flitted by, and then were seen

no more.

But when as they I past away, 0! not a tear was shed, Although my boyhood is a thing now numbered with

the dead.

All radiant in their innocence, my babes again shall

live; But the bright boy that time destroyed, no power can

bid revive.

And of the beings manifold that breathed and moved in

me, An old man broken down with care, is all that God will

see.

My boyhood-my manhood! have vanished like the

wind, Or eager birds that clip the air, and leave no trace be

hind. They lived—they died—both suicide, and are forever

gone. Or at the judgment I appear a myriad in one.

THE HOUSATONICK RIVER BOAT-SONG,

BY MISS SEDGWICK.

GAILY row the boat-row-
For bright is the stream,
With the light of the stars,
And the moon's merry beam;
With the splash of our oars,
Good tune we will measure,
To the dance of our spirits,
In this hour of pleasure.

Quickly row the boat-row-
For fair eyes are beaming;
And from earth, air, and sky,
Sweet influence is streaming.
Let us follow the windings,
Mid green leafy bowers,
Of this gracefuly flowing,
Sweetest river of ours.

Our own Housatonick!
With what loving embraces
His course through our valley
He evermore traces !
In all future ages
May his blessings be shed,
On those who are worthy
His green banks to tread.

ZEPHYR, I ENVY THEE.

BY JOHN KEESE.

ZEPHYR, I envy thee thy bliss :
Not that the wild flowers court thy kiss;
Not that thou curlest the bright sea foam
Before the barque as it boundeth home ;-
Revels like these, I envy thee not,
All pure as thou art, if it be my lot,
Concealed from view like thyself, to rove,
Hovering around the fair form I love;
Like thee midst her tresses of gold to play,
And the sultriness chase from her brow away;
Ever around her a perfume to fling,
Like the fragrant drops from a Peri's wing,
Love from his Paradise doth bring.

COME, TAKE THY LUTE.

BY L. L. CAMPBELL.

Come, take thy lute! attune thy voice,

Strike up some happy joyous strain, Some tones to make our hearts rejoice,

And bring their blisses back again;
Sing me the song I love to hear,

That song so dear to thee and me:
Sing to me, love; though death were near,

'Twould sweeten death in hearing thee.

Come, take thy lute! let me but see

Once more thy fingers sweep the chords, And hear thy 'witching melody

Repeat those dear delightful words.

Dry up that tear-all thoughts of ill

That song will make us each forget; Oh do not weep-be happy still

All may be well, be happy yet.

Come, take thy lute! strike soft, and slow,

Bring back the thoughts of other hours, Ere yet our hearts were brought to know

The with’ring blight of faded flowers Ere yet a fear had dimmed our bliss,

Or yet suspense had mocked our joy, When all around was happiness,

And pleasures sped without alloy.

Yes, take thy lute: sweet tones! they speak

Of guiltless hours, and former peace: Oh cease the strain, thy crimson cheek

Bespeaks the pain ; I pray thee cease. Thou still hast feeling: yes, I see

Those bitter tears in streamlets flow; Come, mingle those sad tears with me,

And drown the thoughts that wound us so.

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