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BOAT-SONG.

WE court no gale with wooing sail,
We fear no squall a-brewing;
Seas smooth or rough, skies fair or bluff,
Alike our course pursuing.

For what to us are winds, when thus

Qur merry boat is flying,

While, bold and free, with jocund glee,
Stout hearts her oars are plying!

At twilight dun, when red the sun
Far o'er the water flashes,
With buoyant song, our bark along

His crimson pathway dashes.

And when the night devours the light,
And shadows thicken o'er us,

The stars steal out, the skies about,
To dance to our bold chorus.

Sometimes, near shore, we ease our oar,
While beauty's sleep invading,

To watch the beam through her casement gleam,
As she wakes to our serenading;
Then, with the tide, we floating glide

To music soft, receding,

Or drain one cup, to her fill'd up,

For whom these notes are pleading.

Thus, on and on, till the night is gone,
And the garish dawn is breaking!
While landsmen sleep, we boatmen keep
The soul of frolic waking.

And though cheerless then our craft look, when
To her moorings day hath brought her,
By the moon amain she is launch'd again,
To dance o'er the merry water.

MORNING HYMN.

"LET THERE BE LIGHT!" The Eternal spoke, And from the abyss where darkness rode The earliest dawn of nature broke,

And light around creation flow'd.

The glad earth smiled to see the day,
The first-born day, come blushing in;
The young day smiled to shed its ray
Upon a world untouch'd by sin.

"Let there be light!" O'er heaven and earth, The GoD who first the day-beam pour'd, Utter'd again his fiat forth,

And shed the gospel's light abroad,
And, like the dawn, its cheering rays
On rich and poor were meant to fall,
Inspiring their Redeemer's praise,
In lowly cot and lordly hall.
Then come, when in the orient first

Flushes the signal-light for prayer;
Come with the earliest beams that burst

From God's bright throne of glory there.
Come kneel to Him who through the night
Hath watch'd above thy sleeping soul,
To Him whose mercies, like his light,
Are shed abroad from pole to pole.

THE WESTERN HUNTER TO HIS

MISTRESS.

WEND, love, with me, to the deep woods, wend, Where far in the forest the wild flowers keep, Where no watching eye shall over us bend, Save the blossoms that into thy bower peep. Thou shalt gather from buds of the oriole's hue, Whose flaming wings round our pathway flit, From the saffron orchis and lupin blue,

And those like the foam on my courser's bit. One steed and one saddle us both shall bear, One hand of each on the bridle meet; And beneath the wrist that entwines me there, An answering pulse from my heart shall beat. I will sing thee many a joyous lay,

As we chase the deer by the blue lake-side, While the winds that over the prairie play

Shall fan the cheek of my woodland bride.

Our home shall be by the cool, bright streams, Where the beaver chooses her safe retreat, And our hearth shall smile like the sun's warm [meet.

gleams

Through the branches around our lodge that Then wend with me, to the deep woods wend, Where far in the forest the wild flowers keep, Where no watching eye shall over us bend, Save the blossoms that into thy bower peep.

THY NAME.

It comes to me when healths go round,

And o'er the wine their garlands wreathing
The flowers of wit, with music wound,

Are freshly from the goblet breathing;
From sparkling song and sally gay
It comes to steal my heart away,
And fill my soul, mid festal glee,

With sad, sweet, silent thoughts of thee.

It comes to me upon the mart,

Where care in jostling crowds is rife ;
Where Avarice goads the sordid heart,

Or cold Ambition prompts the strife;
It comes to whisper, if I'm there,
"Tis but with thee each prize to share,
For Fame were not success to me,
Nor riches wealth unshared with thee.

It comes to me when smiles are bright
On gentle lips that murmur round me,
And kindling glances flash delight

In eyes whose spell would once have bound me. It comes--but comes to bring alone

Remembrance of some look or tone,
Dearer than aught I hear or see,
Because 't was born or breathed by thee

It comes to me where cloister'd boughs
Their shadows cast upon the sod;
A while in Nature's fane my vows

Are lifted from her shrine to God;
It comes to tell that all of worth
I dream in heaven or know on earth,
However bright or dear it be,
Is blended with my thought of thee.

ROSALIE CLARE.

WHO owns not she's peerless, who calls her not fair, Who questions the beauty of ROSALIE CLARE? Let him saddle his courser and spur to the field, And, though harness'd in proof, he must perish or yield;

For no gallant can splinter, no charger may dare
The lance that is couch'd for young ROSALIE CLARE.
When goblets are flowing, and wit at the board
Sparkles high, while the blood of the red grape is
pour'd,

And fond wishes for fair ones around offer'd up
From each lip that is wet with the dew of the cup,
What name on the brimmer floats oftener there,
Oris whisper'd more warmly, than ROSALIE CLARE?
They may talk of the land of the olive and vine,
Of the maids of the Ebro, the Arno, or Rhine;
Of the houris that gladden the East with their
smiles,
[isles;
Where the sea's studded over with green summer
But what flower of far-away clime can compare
With the blossom of ours-bright ROSALIE CLARE?
Who owns not she's peerless, who calls her not fair?
Let him meet but the glances of ROSALIE CLARE!
Let him list to her voice, let him gaze on her form,
And if, seeing and hearing, his soul do not warm,
Let him go breathe it out in some less happy air
Than that which is bless'd by sweet ROSALIECLARE.

THINK OF ME, DEAREST.

THINK of me, dearest, when day is breaking
Away from the sable chains of night,
When the sun, his ocean-couch forsaking,
Like a giant first in his strength awaking,

Is flinging abroad his limbs of light;

As the breeze that first travels with morning forth, Giving life to her steps o'er the quickening earth-As the dream that has cheated my soul through the night,

Let me in thy thoughts come fresh with the light.

Think of me, dearest, when day is sinking

In the soft embrace of twilight gray, When the starry eyes of heaven are winking, And the weary flowers their tears are drinking,

As they start like gems on the moon-touch'd spray.
Let me come warm in thy thoughts at eve,
As the glowing track which the sunbeams leave,
When they, blushing, tremble along the deep,
While stealing away to their place of sleep.

Think of me, dearest, when round thee smiling
Are eyes that melt while they gaze on thee;
When words are winning and looks are wiling,
And those words and looks, of others, beguiling
Thy fluttering heart from love and me.
Let me come true in thy thoughts in that hour;
Let my trust and my faith-my devotion--have

power,

When all that can lure to thy young soul is nearest, To summon each truant thought back to me, dearest.

WE PARTED IN SADNESS.

WE parted in sadness, but spoke not of parting; We talk'd not of hopes that we both must resign, I saw not her eyes, and but one tear-drop starting, Fell down on her hand as it trembled in mine: Each felt that the past we could never recover, Each felt that the future no hope could restore; She shudder'd at wringing the heart of her lover, I dared not to say I must meet her no more.

Long years have gone by, and the spring-time smiles

ever

As o'er our young loves it first smiled in their birth. Long years have gone by, yet that parting, O! never Can it be forgotten by either on earth. [ven, The note of each wild bird that carols toward heaMust tell her of swift-winged hopes that were mine, And the dew that steals over each blossom at even, Tells me of the tear-drop that wept their decline.

THE ORIGIN OF MINT JULEPS. And first behold this cordial Julep here, That flames and dances in its crystal bounds, With spirits of balm and fragrant syrups mixed; Not that Nepenthes which the wife of THOME In Egypt gave to Jove-born HELENA, Is of such power to stir up Joy as this, To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst.

MILTON-Comus.

"TIs said that the gods, on Olympus of old,

(And who the bright legend profanes with a doubt?)

One night, 'mid their revels, by BACCHUS were told That his last butt of nectar had somehow run out! But, determined to send round the goblet once more, They sued to the fairer immortals for aid [o'er, In composing a draught, which, till drinking were Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade. Grave CERES herself blithely yielded her corn,

And the spirit that lives in each amber hued grain, And which first had its birth from the dews of the morn,

Was taught to steal out in bright dew-drops again. POMONA, whose choicest of fruits on the board

Were scatter'd profusely in every one's reach, When called on a tribute to cull from the hoard, Express'd the mild juice of the delicate peach. The liquids were mingled, while VENUS looked on, With glances so fraught with sweet magical

power,

That the honey of Hybla, e'en when they were gone, Has never been missed in the draught from that

hour.

FLORA then, from her bosom of fragrancy, shook,

And with roseate fingers press'd down in the bowl, All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook,

The herb whose aroma should flavour the whole.

The draught was delicious, each god did exclaim,

Though something yet wanting they all did beBut juleps the drink of immortals became, [wail; When Jove himself added a handful of hail.

BOAT-SONG.

WE court no gale with wooing sail,
We fear no squall a-brewing;

Seas smooth or rough, skies fair or bluff,
Alike our course pursuing.

For what to us are winds, when thus

Our merry boat is flying,
While, bold and free, with jocund glee,
Stout hearts her oars are plying!

At twilight dun, when red the sun
Far o'er the water flashes,
With buoyant song, our bark along

His crimson pathway dashes.

And when the night devours the light,
And shadows thicken o'er us,

The stars steal out, the skies about,
To dance to our bold chorus.

Sometimes, near shore, we ease our oar,
While beauty's sleep invading,

To watch the beam through her casement gleam,
As she wakes to our serenading;
Then, with the tide, we floating glide

To music soft, receding,

Or drain one cup, to her fill'd up,

For whom these notes are pleading.

Thus, on and on, till the night is gone,
And the garish dawn is breaking!
While landsmen sleep, we boatmen keep
The soul of frolic waking.

And though cheerless then our craft look, when
To her moorings day hath brought her,
By the moon amain she is launch'd again,
To dance o'er the merry water.

MORNING HYMN.

"LET THERE BE LIGHT!" The Eternal spoke, And from the abyss where darkness rode The earliest dawn of nature broke,

And light around creation flow'd. The glad earth smiled to see the day,

The first-born day, come blushing in; The young day smiled to shed its ray Upon a world untouch'd by sin.

"Let there be light!" O'er heaven and earth, The GoD who first the day-beam pour'd, Utter'd again his fiat forth,

And shed the gospel's light abroad,
And, like the dawn, its cheering rays
On rich and poor were meant to fall,
Inspiring their Redeemer's praise,
In lowly cot and lordly hall.

Then come, when in the orient first

Flushes the signal-light for prayer;
Come with the earliest beams that burst

From God's bright throne of glory there.
Come kneel to Him who through the night
Hath watch'd above thy sleeping soul,
To Him whose mercies, like his light,
Are shed abroad from pole to pole.

THE WESTERN HUNTER TO HIS

MISTRESS.

WEND, love, with me, to the deep woods, wend, Where far in the forest the wild flowers keep, Where no watching eye shall over us bend, Save the blossoms that into thy bower peep. Thou shalt gather from buds of the oriole's hue, Whose flaming wings round our pathway flit, From the saffron orchis and lupin blue,

And those like the foam on my courser's bit. One steed and one saddle us both shall bear, One hand of each on the bridle meet; And beneath the wrist that entwines me there, An answering pulse from my heart shall beat. I will sing thee many a joyous lay,

As we chase the deer by the blue lake-side, While the winds that over the prairie play

Shall fan the cheek of my woodland bride. Our home shall be by the cool, bright streams, Where the beaver chooses her safe retreat, And our hearth shall smile like the sun's warm gleams [meet.

Through the branches around our lodge that Then wend with me, to the deep woods wend, Where far in the forest the wild flowers keep, Where no watching eye shall over us bend, Save the blossoms that into thy bower peep.

THY NAME.

IT comes to me when healths go round,
And o'er the wine their garlands wreathing
The flowers of wit, with music wound,

Are freshly from the goblet breathing;
From sparkling song and sally gay
It comes to steal my heart away,
And fill my soul, mid festal glee,
With sad, sweet, silent thoughts of thee.
It comes to me upon the mart,

Where care in jostling crowds is rife;
Where Avarice goads the sordid heart,

Or cold Ambition prompts the strife;
It comes to whisper, if I'm there,
"Tis but with thee each prize to share,
For Fame were not success to me,
Nor riches wealth unshared with thee.
It comes to me when smiles are bright
On gentle lips that murmur round me,
And kindling glances flash delight

In eyes whose spell would once have bound me.
It comes--but comes to bring alone
Remembrance of some look or tone,
Dearer than aught I hear or see,
Because 't was born or breathed by thee

It comes to me where cloister'd boughs
Their shadows cast upon the sod;
A while in Nature's fane my vows

Are lifted from her shrine to GOD;
It comes to tell that all of worth
I dream in heaven or know on earth,
However bright or dear it be,
Is blended with my thought of thee.

ROSALIE CLARE.

Who owns not she's peerless, who calls her not fair, Who questions the beauty of ROSALIE CLARE? Let him saddle his courser and spur to the field, And, though harness'd in proof, he must perish or yield;

For no gallant can splinter, no charger may dare The lance that is couch'd for young ROSALIE CLARE.

When goblets are flowing, and wit at the board Sparkles high, while the blood of the red grape is pour'd,

And fond wishes for fair ones around offer'd up
From each lip that is wet with the dew of the cup,
What name on the brimmer floats oftener there,
Or is whisper'd more warmly, than ROSALIE CLARE?
They may talk of the land of the olive and vine,
Of the maids of the Ebro, the Arno, or Rhine;
Of the houris that gladden the East with their
smiles,
[isles;

Where the sea's studded over with green summer
But what flower of far-away clime can compare
With the blossom of ours-bright ROSALIE CLARE?
Who owns not she's peerless, who calls her not fair?
Let him meet but the glances of ROSALIE CLARE!
Let him list to her voice, let him gaze on her form,
And if, seeing and hearing, his soul do not warm,
Let him go breathe it out in some less happy air
Than that which is bless'd by sweet ROSALIECLARE.

THINK OF ME, DEAREST.

THINK of me, dearest, when day is breaking
Away from the sable chains of night,
When the sun, his ocean-couch forsaking,
Like a giant first in his strength awaking,
Is flinging abroad his limbs of light;
As the breeze that first travels with morning forth,
Giving life to her steps o'er the quickening earth--
As the dream that has cheated my soul through the
night,

Let me in thy thoughts come fresh with the light.

Think of me, dearest, when day is sinking

In the soft embrace of twilight gray, When the starry eyes of heaven are winking, And the weary flowers their tears are drinking, As they start like gems on the moon-touch'd spray. Let me come warm in thy thoughts at eve, As the glowing track which the sunbeams leave, When they, blushing, tremble along the deep, While stealing away to their place of sleep. Think of me, dearest, when round thee smiling

Are eyes that melt while they gaze on thee; When words are winning and looks are wiling, And those words and looks, of others, beguiling Thy fluttering heart from love and me. Let me come true in thy thoughts in that hour; Let my trust and my faith-my devotion--have power,

When all that can lure to thy young soul is nearest, To summon each truant thought back to me, dearest.

WE PARTED IN SADNESS.

WE parted in sadness, but spoke not of parting; We talk'd not of hopes that we both must resign, I saw not her eyes, and but one tear-drop starting, Fell down on her hand as it trembled in mine: Each felt that the past we could never recover, Each felt that the future no hope could restore; She shudder'd at wringing the heart of her lover, I dared not to say I must meet her no more.

Long years have gone by, and the spring-time smiles

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One night, 'mid their revels, by BACCHUS were told That his last butt of nectar had somehow run out! But, determined to send round the goblet once more, They sued to the fairer immortals for aid [o'er, In composing a draught, which, till drinking were Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade. Grave CERES herself blithely yielded her corn,

And the spirit that lives in each amber hued grain, And which first had its birth from the dews of the morn,

Was taught to steal out in bright dew-drops again. POMONA, whose choicest of fruits on the board

Were scatter'd profusely in every one's reach, When called on a tribute to cull from the hoard, Express'd the mild juice of the delicate peach. The liquids were mingled, while VENUS looked on, With glances so fraught with sweet magical

power,

That the honey of Hybla, e'en when they were gone, Has never been missed in the draught from that

hour.

FLORA then, from her bosom of fragrancy, shook,

And with roseate fingers press'd down in the bowl, All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook, The herb whose aroma should flavour the whole.

The draught was delicious, each god did exclaim,

Though something yet wanting they all did beBut juleps the drink of immortals became, [wail; When Jove himself added a handful of hail.

SPARKLING AND BRIGHT.

SPARKLING and bright in liquid light

Does the wine our goblets gleam in,
With hue as red as the rosy bed

Which a bee would choose to dream in.
Then fill to-night with hearts as light,
To loves as gay and fleeting

As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.

O! if Mirth might arrest the flight

Of Time through Life's dominions,
We here a while would now beguile
The graybeard of his pinions,

To drink to-night with hearts as light,
To loves as gay and fleeting

As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.

But since delight can't tempt the wight,
Nor fond regret delay him,

Nor Love himself can hold the elf,
Nor sober Friendship stay him,

We'll drink to-night with hearts as light,
To loves as gay and fleeting

As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.

SEEK NOT TO UNDERSTAND HER.

WHY seek her heart to understand,
If but enough thou knowest
To prove that all thy love, like sand,
Upon the wind thou throwest?
The ill thou makest out at last
Doth but reflect the bitter past,
While all the good thou earnest yet,
But makes her harder to forget.

What matters all the nobleness

Which in her breast resideth,
And what the warmth and tenderness
Her mien of coldness hideth,
If but ungenerous thoughts prevail
When thou her bosom wouldst assail,
While tenderness and warmth doth ne'er,
By any chance, toward thee appear.

Sum up each token thou hast won
Of kindred feeling there-
How few for Hope, to build upon,
How many for Despair!
And if e'er word or look declareth
Love or aversion, which she beareth,
While of the first, no proof thou hast,
How many are there of the last!
Then strive no more to understand

Her heart, of whom thou knowest
Enough to prove thy love like sand

Upon the wind thou throwest:
The ill thou makest out at last
Doth but reflect the bitter past,
While all the good thou learnest yet
But makes her harder to forget.

ASK NOT WHY I SHOULD LOVE HER.

Ask me not why I should love her:
Look upon those soul-full eyes!
Look while mirth or feeling move her,

And see there how sweetly rise
Thoughts gay and gentle from a breast,
Which is of innocence the nest-
Which, though each joy were from it shred,
By truth would still be tenanted!

See, from those sweet windows peeping,
Emotions tender, bright, and pure,
And wonder not the faith I'm keeping
Every trial can endure!

Wonder not that looks so winning
Still for me new ties are spinning;
Wonder not that heart so true
Keeps mine from ever changing too.

SHE LOVES, BUT 'TIS NOT ME.

SHE loves, but 't is not me she loves:

Not me on whom she ponders, When, in some dream of tenderness,

Her truant fancy wanders. The forms that flit her visions through Are like the shapes of old, Where tales of prince and paladin

On tapestry are told.

Man may not hope her heart to win, Be his of common mould.

But I-though spurs are won no more Where herald's trump is pealing, Nor thrones carved out for lady fair

Where steel-clad ranks are wheelingI loose the falcon of my hopes

Upon as proud a flight

As those who hawk'd at high renown,

In song-ennobled fight.

If daring, then, true love may crown,
My love she must requite.

THY SMILES.

I KNOW I share thy smiles with many,
Yet still thy smiles are dear to me;

I know that I, far less than any,
Call out thy spirit's witchery;
But yet, I cannot help, when nigh thee,
To seize upon each glance and tone,
To hoard them in my heart when by thee,
And count them o'er whene'er alone.

But why, O, why on all thus squander

The treasures one alone can prize,Why let the looks at random wander Which beam from those deluding eyes? Those syren tones, so lightly spoken, Cause many a heart, I know, to thrill; But mine, and only mine, till broken, In every pulse must answer still.

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