I moulded kings and saviours, Yet whirl the glowing wheels once more, Seethė, Fate! the ancient elements, Heat, cold, wet, dry, and peace, and pain. Let war and trade and creeds and song The sunburnt world a man shall breed No ray is dimm'd, no atom worn, My oldest force is good as new, And the fresh rose on yonder thorn BRAHMA. IF the red slayer think he slays, Shadow and sunlight are the same; And one to me are shame and fame. They reckon ill who leave me out; And I the hymn the Brahmin sings. Find me, and turn thy back on heaven. FRIENDSHIP. A RUDDY drop of manly blood And, after many a year, All things through thee take nobler form, Me too thy nobleness has taught The fountains of my hidden life TO EVA. OH fair and stately maid, whose eyes At the same torch that lighted mine; Thy sweet dominion o'er my will, Ah, let me blameless gaze upon Nor fear those watchful sentinels, CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN. Born in New York City 1806. THE BOB O' LINKUM. THOU Vocal sprite! thou feather'd troubadour! And play in foppish trim the masquing stranger? They say, alike thy song and plumage changes: Joyous, yet tender, was that gush of song Caught from the brooks, where, 'mid its wildflowers smiling, The silent prairie listens all day long, The only captive to such sweet beguiling; Or didst thou, flitting through the verdurous halls Learn from the tuneful woods rare madrigals, To make our flowering pastures here harmonious? Caught'st thou thy carol from Otawa maid, Where, through the liquid fields of wild rice plashing, Brushing the ears from off the burden'd blade, Her birch canoe o'er some lone lake is flashing? Or did the reeds of some savannah south Detain thee while thy northern flight pursuing, To place those melodies in thy sweet mouth The spice-fed winds had taught them in their wooing? Unthrifty prodigal! is thought of ill Thy ceaseless roundelay disturbing ever? THE ORIGIN OF MINT JULEPS. "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, In composing a draught, which, till drinking were o'er, Grave CERES herself blithely yielded her corn; And the spirit that lives in each amber-hued grain, And which first had its birth in 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 call'd on a tribute to cull from the hoard, Express'd the mild juice of the delicate peach. The liquids were mingled, while VENUS look'd on, The draught was delicious, each god did exclaim, When JOVE himself added a handful of hail. TO A LADY BLUSHING. THE lilies faintly to the roses yield, As on thy lovely cheek they struggling vie, And thoughts are in thy speaking eyes reveal'd, I could not wish that in thy bosom aught Should e'er one moment's transient pain awaken, Will yield their sweetest fragrance to the wind, WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS. Born at Charleston, South Carolina, 1806-died 1870. THE LOST PLEIAD. Nor in the sky, Where it was seen, Nor on the white tops of the glistering wave, |