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Now! now cull the dew-dripping rosebud and braid it.

While it nestles the first smile of morn in its breast; Soon the withering gaze of the day-god may fade it,

And the rose may be flung from the brow it caressed. And soon, like the rose, may some joy that entwined us,

Fade from friendship’s gay circle and never return; Of the past, memory's mirror may sadly remind us,

And the spirit but gaze on its shadows to mourn.

Then round with the bowl-oh! now let us drain it,

And bask in the beam that is shed o'er its brim ; Soon the pitiless lip of old Time may profane it,

And his sullying breath bid its lustre be diin. Oh! thus may my spirit, when death shall unbind it,

Glide lightly away like the light rosy wave; And as dear be the memory that lingers behind it,

As the loveliest dream that the wine-cup e'er gave.

A GENTLE BREEZE FROM HER HIGH BROW.

BY RUFUS W. GRISWOLD.

A GENTLE breeze from her high brow

Throws back her raven hair,
Oh, gladness has no longer now

Her wonted empire there !

That brow with clouds is overcast,

That cheek is wan and paledWhat spell has o'er her spirit passed,

And what her heart assailed ?

Another gaze: a tear is there

The effort was in vain,
When sorrow is too deep to bear,

Who shall its tears restrain ?
Now the deep fountain is unsealed,

The gushing waters rise, Her agony is all revealed

In those o'erflowing eyes !

Upon her hand a diamond rare

Reflects the setting sun, But where is he who placed it there

When their young hearts were one ? Oh, in that word the secret lies,

For they are one no more! Joy in the faithful bosom dies

When Love's sweet dream is o'er.

THE SPIRITS' GATHERING.

BY G. W. ROBBINS.

They are gathering proudly round me,

The spirits of the brave, From all earth's fields of glory,

And many a storied wave.
Of every age and nation,

The sons of every clime,
Who've twined the deathless laurel

Around the brow of time.

No banner floats above them,

No warlike shout is there; They march, as march the stately stars,

Through pathless fields of air. What charm hath broke the sternness

Of your long and deep repose, Where the warrior's arm forgot at length

To grapple with his foes?

The war-cloud burst above ye,

Unheeded in its wrath ;
The car of triumph rushed along,

Ye dreamed not of its path!
Why bide ye not the spirits' trump?

'Twill shake the earth and sea, And all the armies of the dead,

Shall bear that réveillé.

THE AZURE SMILE OF SUMMER EYES.

BY M'DONALD CLARKE.

The azure smile of summer eyes

May charm the young and gay,
But those where sorrow's shadow lies,

Like winter's sundown ray,
Are dearer to the desert heart

That all its loneness feels,
As answering tears will always start

Where gloomy music steals.

Our feelings darken, like the rays

Of twilight through a cloud,
Shading the bloom of boyhood's days,

And hopes, unbreathed aloud :
Hopes—that have cheered us but to cheat,

And gone-to come no more,
Save when in funeral dreams we meet

The forms, so loved of yore.

O sing the mourning songs, my child,

The bleak wild songs of old,
O'er which fond eyes have wept and smiled,

That now are closed, and cold.
Eyes--that life's weeping passions wet

Once with enjoyment bright,
Ere the beams of human bliss had set

In memory's moonless night.

That dreary music brings again

Dreams of far faded years, Ere happiness began to wane,

And hope was seen in tears ;
Names that are heard on earth no more,

Dim on the burial-stone;
Faces—that looks of kindness wore,

Long-long to me unknown;

Hearts—that with wise attachment beat,

In every trial, true; Voices—that even reproof made sweet,

For love was melting through; All that gave childhood's hour its charm,

Embalmed a mother's name, When to her grave, at midnight's calm,

Remembrance often came.

Then sing the dark old songs that speak

Of sorrow's faithful dead,
And sweeter tears will cool my cheek

Than pleasure ever shed ;
For he who lives a little while

In this false world of ours,
Will find them worth the richest smile

That warms but-Fortune's bowers.

Smiles glitter round the velvet path

Of wealth's voluptuous home, Yet vanish-when the thunder's wrath

And trouble's tempest come;

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