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But tears are purer tests of truth
Keep old affections bright,
And life 's-in waneing light.
TO THE MEMORY OF
BY C. DONALD M'LEOD.
FAREWELL, oh thou star of my being! whose smile
Was a beacon of hope to my wilderness earth; Whose voice, like an orphean lute, could beguile
The sorrow of life, till it melted to mirth. Thou art gone to a land where the eye knows no tear;
Where the brow never fades at the touch of decay; But the heart thou hast left, feels its loneliness here,
For the warmth of its summer hath faded away.
Like a sun-gilded lake, in whose waters are glassed
The forms of the roses that bloom on its shore, Thy soul-mirrored love; but death's gloomy wing passed,
And ruffled the wave till it mirrored no more. Thy flight was at twilight; the sun's golden glare
Had paled at the death of a beautiful day; But one beam, like an angel, seemed lingering there,
To light thy dear spirit in beauty away.
Farewell! the sad tears that I weep for thee now,
Are the last that my spirit shall wring from its gloom; For thy death shed a promising light o'er my brow,
That showed a glad land 'neath the veil of the tomb! I'll join thee, my bride! where eternity's how
Its iris-hued light on our union shall pour; And the spirits that death disunited below,
Shall mingle in Heaven, to sever no more!
UNFURL OUR STANDARD HIGH.
BY OWEN GRENLIFFE WARREN.
UNFURL our standard high!
Its glorious folds shall wave
Or ocean's surges lave!
With patriotic ire,
It shall their breasts inspire
Unfurl the stripes and stars !
They evermore shall be
Triumphant on the sea !
And when th' o'erruling fates decree
The bolt of war to throw,
Shalt daunt the bravest foe;
I SEEK THEE NOT WHEN MIRTH IS HIGH.
BY MRS. DAPONTE.
I SEEK thee not when mirth is high,
And all proclaim thee fair.
I feel thou art too dear.
I seek thee not amid the throng
And kneel before thee there.
I feel thou art too dear.
The vain and giddy follow thee;
They murmur in thine ear!
Ah, little effort for that train
They feel not thou art dear.
Believe that yet I love thee well,
That whispers thou art dear-
Whenever thou art near.
BY ANNA MARIA WELLS.
SEA-BIRD! haunter of the wave,
Delighting o'er its crest to hover; Half engulfed where yawns the cave
The billow forms in rolling over; Sea-bird ! seeker of the storm!
In its shriek thou dost rejoice; Sending from thy bosom warm
Answer shriller than its voice
Bird, of nervous winged flight,
Flashing silvery to the sun, Sporting with the sea-foam white, When will thy wild course be done?
Whither tends it? Has the shore
No alluring haunt for thee?
Scented shrub, or leafy tree?
Is the purple sea-weed rarer
Than the violet of the spring ? Is the snowy foam-wreath fairer
Than the apple's blossoming ? Shady grove and sunny slope,
Seek but these, and thou shalt meet Birds not born with storm to cope,
Hermits of retirement sweet
Where no winds too rudely swell,
But in whispers, as they pass,
Hidden in the tender grass.
There the robin builds his nest;
Brooding, takes her blissful rest.
Sea-bird-stay thy rapid flight:
Gone !—Where dark waves foam and dasb, Like a lone star on the night,
Far I see his white wing flash. He obeyeth God's behest,
All their destiny fulfil: Tempests some are born to breast;
Some, to worship and be still.