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Ambition bold,

Pride stern and cold,
Are subjects, Mammon, for thy chain;

But love is free

As thought can be,
And flings thy shackles back again.

THE FALLING TIDE UPON THE BEACH.

BY HENRY PANTON.

The falling tide upon the beach

In murmurs chides my long delay; The whispering wind in fancy speaks,

And bids me on my course away. And yet I linger near thine eyes,

As one on whom there hangs a spell ; I strive in vain-my tongue denies

The tones that form that word, “Farewell."

We'll meet no more. In after years,

Perhaps some long-neglected token Of ties now washed away in tears,

That once no power could have broken,

May call emotions to the heart

That long in it have ceased to dwell, And may again the scene impart

Where last I whispered, Fare-thee well.

For me,

the heart that once was thine May beat beneath another's power, But never from another's shrine

Can bring the sadness of this hour. With thee I've passed the morn of love

Day half his lustre will dispel ;
And after-joys the heart would prove,

Will sadden at our last Farewell.

I linger still; but 'tis in vain

Nought can those careless hours restore; Procrastination adds but pain,

And only heats the tear-drop more. Come, while my eyes are filled with thee,

Ere tears thy image shall dispel ; Bright may thy future prospects be;

One kiss—forever Fare-thee-well.

“A THING OF BEAUTY IS A JOY FOREVER.”

BY L. L. DAPONTE.

FAREWELL! how oft that word is said

By those who hope to meet again,
While tears that solace as they flow

Bespeak the transitory pain!
I do not weep to say farewell;

All speechless will I see thee part,
While sorrow shall thy image take-

Companion of my broken heart.

Nor think if cheerless I pursue

The path that thou hast marked with wo,
There is not in my heart a joy,

That joy itself can never know-
To see thee when thou art not nigh;

To hear thee when no other hears ;
To love thee e'en in time's decay,

As in thy pride of youthful years !

When life and care have dimmed thine eye,

So terrible in beauty now,
Unaltered still thy face to see

l'nchanged the glory of thy brow!
Still on unfaded charms to gaze,

Till, guided by thy light divine,
My soul shall be refined at last

To fit companionship with thine!

But thou—where'er thy choice may lead,

Unmindful of the wreck it makes One heart shall follow thee with prayer,

And bless thee, while for thee it breaks. Then if at last thy lot may prove

One worthy of thy love to see, The rapture of that love be his,

The triumph mine to die for thee.

MOURNEST THOU.

BY E. A. STANSBURY.

Mourn'st thou o'er those hours departed

Which have fled on rosy wing, When the loved, the gentle-hearted,

Bloomed around thy being's spring Sigh’st thou for the friends that perished

While their hearts were fresh and young; Forms that once thy bosom cherished,

Slumb'ring now the graves among ?

Dost thou weep, lone child of sorrow,

O'er the hopes that erst were thine, Looking sadly for the morrow

Which again shall bid them shine ?

Is there nought thy cares can lighten

Nought can bid thy tears be dry-
Nought thy fading hopes can brighten,

Gentle child of misery?

Ay! there is a home in Heaven,

Where thy heart shall grieve no more
To spirits such as thine is given

Rest upon that peaceful shore.
Weep not then, sweet child of sorrow,

O’er the hopes that erst were thine,
Calmly wait that blessed morrow

Which shall bid them brighter shine!

THE BIRTH OF PRINTING.

BY HORACE GREELY.

Long slumbered the world in the darkness of error,

And ignorance brooded o'er earth like a pall : To the mitre and crown men abased them in terror,

Though galling the bondage, and bitter the thrall: When a voice like the earthquake's revealed the dis

honour-
A flash like the lightning's unsealed every eye,
And o'er hill-top and glen floated liberty's banner,
While round it men gathered to conquer or die !

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