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THE FALLS OF THE PASSAIC.
BY WASHINGTON IRVING.
In a wild, tranquil vale, fringed with forests of green,
No grandeur of prospect astonished the sight,
waved, And pure was the current the green bank that laved.
But the spirit that ruled o'er the thick tangled wood,
All flush'd from the tumult of battle he came,
With a glance of disgust he the landscape surveyed, With its fragrant wild flowers, its wide-waving shade ;Where Passaic meanders through margins of green, So transparent its waters, its surface serene.
He rived the green hills, the wild woods he laid low;
Countless moons have since rolled in the long lapse of
timeCultivation has softened those features sublime ; The axe of the white man has lightened the shade, And dispelled the deep gloom of the thicketed glade.
But the stranger still gazes with wondering eye,
THE FADED ONE.
BY WILLIS G. CLARK.
Gone to the slumber which may know no waking
Till the loud requiem of the world shall swell ; Gone! where no sound thy still repose is breaking,
In a lone mansion through long years to dwell ; Where the sweet gales that herald bud and blossom
Pour not their music nor their fragrant breath:
Yet 'twas but yesterday that all before thee
Shone in the freshness of life's morning hours ; Joy's radiant smile was playing briefly o'er thee,
And thy light feet impressed but vernal flowers. The restless spirit charmed thy sweet existence,
Making all beauteous in youth's pleasant maze, While gladsome hope illumed the onward distance,
And lit with sunbeams thy expectant days.
How have the garlands of thy childhood withered,
And hope's false anthem died upon the air ! Death's cloudy tempests o'er thy way have gathered,
And his stern bolts have burst in fury there. On thy pale forehead sleeps the shade of even,
Youth's braided wreath lies stained in sprinkled dust, Yet looking ward in its grief to Heaven,
Love should not mourn thee, save in hope and trust.
WHEN ON THY BOSOM I RECLINE.
BY LINDLEY MURRAY.
When on thy bosom I recline,
To call thee mine for life,
Of Husband and of Wife.
One mutual flame inspires our bliss;
Even years have not destroyed; Some sweet sensation, ever new, Springs up and proves the maxim true,
That love can ne'er be cloyed.
Have I a wish ?-tis all for thee;
So soft our moments move,
And bid us live-and love.
If cares arise-and cares will come-
I'll lull me there to rest;
And lose it in my breast.
Have I a wish ?-'tis all her own;
Our hearts are so entwined,
'Tis death to be disjoined.
MY OLD WIFE.
BY J. B. PHILLIPS.
Old Time has dimmed the lustre of her eyes, that
brightly shone, And her voice has lost the sweetness of its girlhood's
silvery tone, But her heart is still as cheerful as in early days of life, And as fondly as I prized my bride, I love my dear old
When the spring of life was in its bloom, and hope gave
zest to youth, We at the sacred altar stood, and plighted vows of truth. And since though changeful years have passed, with
joys and sorrows rife, Yet, never did I see a change in her, my dear old wife.
Her gentle love my cares have soothed, her smiles each
joy enhanced, As fondly through progressive years together we've
advanced ; Though calmly now the current flows, we've known
misfortune's strife, Yet, ever did she cheer my woes, my faithful, fond old