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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

Old Wife!

IANTHE! ON THAT LOFTY BROW.

BY W. HENRY CARPENTER.

IANTHE! on that lofty brow

Thought sits as on a throne;
Yet, as thine eyes are beaming now

With love, and love alone,
My soul doth drink their beauty in,

As if by beauty nursed;
But oh! the more it seems to win,

The more it is athirst.

Then frown not if I look, my dear,

Too fondly in thine eyes ;
Or list with too attent an ear

Thy musical replies.
How can mine eyes not glass thine own,

When lovingly they shine ;
Or how can I not list the tone
That tells me thou art mine.

Oh! 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 ;
For 'tis the breaking of a spell

We fain would bind us yet.
Then fades love's rapturous mystery,

And slowly move the loitering hours; For bleak and bare reality

Usurps the realm of flowers.

THE LAKE OF CAYOSTEA.

BY ROBERT BARKER.

The 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.

But there, at night, beneath the light

Of silent moon and twinkling ray, The Indian's boat is seen to float,

And track its lonely way.

The Indian maid, in forest glade,

Of flowers that earliest grow, And fragrant leaves, a garland weaves

To deck her warrior's brow. And when away, at break of day,

She hies her to her shieling dear, She sings so gay a roundelay,

That echo stops to hear.

Would it were mine to join with thine,

And dwell for ever here,
In forest wild with nature's child,

By the silent Cayostea.
My joy with thee would ever be

Along these banks to roam ;
And fortune take beside the lake,

Whose clime is freedom's home.

LOOK ALOFT:

BY JONATHAN LAWRENCE, JUN.

[The following song was suggested by an anecdote said to have been related by the late Dr. Godman, of the ship-boy who was about to fall from the rigging, and was only saved by the mate's characteristic exclamacion, "Look aloft, you lubber.”]

In the tempest of life, when the wave and the gale
Are around and above, if thy footing should fail-
If thine eye should grow dim and thy caution depart-
“Look aloft” and be firm, and be fearless of heart.

If the friend, who embraced in prosperity's glow
With a smile for each joy and a tear for each wo,
Should betray thee when sorrow like clouds are arrayed.
“Look aloft” to the friendship which never shall fade.

Should the visions which hope spreads in light to thine

eye, Like the tints of the rainbow, but brighten to fly, Then turn, and through tears of repentant regret, “ Look aloft” to the sun that is never to set.

Should they who are dearest—the son of thy heart,
The wife of thy bosom-in sorrow depart,
“Look aloft," from the darkness and dust of the tomb,
To that soil where " affection is ever in bloom."

And oh! when death comes in terrors, to cast,
His fears on the future, his pall on the past,
In that moment of darkness, with hope in thy heart,
And a smile in thine eye, “look aloft” and depart!

OH, WEEP NOT FOR THE DEAD.

BY MARY E. BROOKS.

Oh, weep not for the dead!
Rather, oh rather give the tear
To those that darkly linger here,

When all besides are fled;
Weep for the spirit withering
In its cold cheerless sorrowing,
Weep for the young and lovely one
That ruin darkly revels on;

But never be a tear-drop shed
For them, the pure enfranchised dead.

Oh, weep not for the dead !
No more for them the blighting chill,
The thousand shades of earthly ill,

The thousand thorns we tread;
Weep for the life-charm early flown,
The spirit broken, bleeding, lone;

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