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We'll mark where couched the dappled deer
Deep in the wild-wood glen;

And muse of times past many a year,
And muse, and be as happy here

As was the dun deer then!

We'll wake each morn with grateful songs,
We'll close each day with prayer
To Him, to whom all praise belongs,
Who'll guide and guard from rising wrongs,
And crown us with his care!

We'll ever thus the winged hours
Cause joyously to fly:

And turn th' abodes of grief to bowers
Of bliss, and thorns of life to flowers,
Whose beauties may not die!

We'll wend in trustful hope our way,
Nor dream of care or sorrow;
But knit in Love, we'll fondly say,
As on we rove, each bright to-day
Shall pledge a brighter morrow!

Oh stay, then, cheer me with thy love,
Our hearts nor death shall sever;
We'll love in life, and happy prove,
'Till, parting here, we meet above,
To live in love for ever!

SONNET.

WHY have ye lingered on your way so long, Bright visions, who were wont to hear my call, And with the harmony of dance and song

Keep round my dreaming couch a festival? Where are ye gone, with all your eyes of light, And where the flowery voice I loved to hear, When, through the silent watches of the night, Ye whispered like an angel in my ear? O! fly not with the rapid wing of time,

But with your ancient votary kindly stay; Aud while the loftier dreams, that rose sublime In years of higher hope, have flown away: O! with the colours of a softer clime

Give your last touches to the dying day.

YOU SEE THAT BRIGHTLY BEAMING STAR.

You see that brightly beaming star,
The nearest to the Queen of night;
I never on that planet gaze

But gushing tears obscure my sight,
To think how oft beneath its ray
I've rambled forth by Mary's side;
And hoped to hail the happy day,
When I should claim her as my bride.

We ramble side by side no more,
Yon hillock tells the reason why;
Oh! if the man sions of the blest

Are those bright orbs which deck the sky,
It never can be deemed a sin

To think that from that orb I see
Amid the pause in rapture's song,
My Mary looking down on me.

TO HELEN.

AWAY on the hills in the mountains, away
From the care plodding bustle of men,
Where the Summer-sun smiles with his earliest ray,
And his last ere he slumbers again;

There's a mansion that stands in a quiet retreat,
With its vine-covered windows and door,

Where the music of wood-birds adds melody sweet

To all that was lovely before.

Yet 'tis not the mild sun-beam which sheds over all

Its warm golden tissue of light;

Nor the wild running woodbine that climbs o'er the wall,

Nor the birds with their song of delight;

But oh! there's a spirit inhabits the place,
That hallows the region of bliss;

And cold must the heart be that e'er can efface

A scene so enchanting as this.

There are moments of rapture we ne'er can forget,
That will beam on Life's loneliest hour;

And when all else is dark will a radiance reflect,
Like the rainbow that follows the shower::

And such is the bliss that a smile can impart

When beaming from features divine;

And such the wild rapture that thrills to the heart,
Awakened, my HELEN, by thine!

Then turn not, my mountain maid, turn not away,
Unworthy howe'er it may be,

From the heart which unchanging, its homage would pay
Of purest devotion to thee;

For if there's a joy which through life can endure,
And never grow dim to the close,

It must spring from affection, which, constant and purc,
Knows not of decay or repose.

BE MINE, DEAR MAID.

BE mine, dear maid; thy faithful heart
Can never prove untrue;
'Twere easier, far, from life to part,

Than cease to live for you.

My soul, gone forth from this lone breast,
Lives only, love, in thine;

There is its only home of rest,

Its dear, its chosen shrine.
Then turn thee not away, my dear,
Oh! turn thee not away, love;
For by the light of truth I swear
To love thee night and day, love.

"Tis not mine eye thy beauty loves,
Mine ear thy tuneful voice:
But 'tis my heart, thy heart approves,
A life enduring choice.

The lark shall first forget to sing,

When morn unfolds the east,
Ere I by change or coldness wring
Thy fond confiding breast.

THE RAVEN.

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
""Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this and nothing more."

Ah! distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;-vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow-sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
""Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you"-here I opened wide the door;

Darkness there and nothing more!

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream be

fore;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Le

nore!"

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Le

nore !"

Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning. all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lat

tice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery exploreLet my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore ;— 'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stay-

ed he;

But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber doorPerched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber doorPerchel, and sat, and nothing more.

Then, this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure

no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly

shore

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven,
66 Nevermore,"

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning-little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing, that no living human being,
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour,
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown

before

On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said " Nevermore."