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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 cur nt flows, we've kn
misfortune's strife, Yet, ever did she cheer my woes, my faithful, fond old
And ever since that joyous day I blessed her as my
bride, In joy and sorrow, calm or storm, I found her at my side; And when the summons from above shall close the
scene of life, May I be called to rest with thee, my good, my dear
IANTHE! ON THAT LOFTY BROW.
BY W. HENRY CARPENTER.
Ianthe! on that lofty brow
Thought sits as on a throne;
With love, and love alone,
As if by beauty nursed ;
The more it is athirst.
Then frown not if I look, my dear,
Too fondly in thine eyes ;
Thy musical replies.
When lovingly they shine ;
Ok! I could linger near thee, sweet!
From eve till morning's light, And chide the hours whose winged feet
Too swiftly chase the night. So rapt am I, and thou so dear,
That churlish Time is all forgot; And I but dream, when thou art near,
To wake when thou art not.
It hath a sad sweet sound—“Farewell,"
When loved lips murmur it;
We fain would bind us yet.
And slowly move the loitering hours; For bleak and bare reality
Usurps the realm of flowers.
THE LAKE OF CAYOSTEA.
BY ROBERT BARKER.
THY wave has ne'er by gondolier
Been dashed aside with flashing oar, Nor festive train to music's strain
Performed the dance upon thy shore.