'I'VE GAZED ON THEE, LADY.'

I'VE gazed on thee, lady,
And lived in the light
That blazed from thine eyelids,
Like stars of the night.
Thy words, as pure dew-drops,
Fell richly from lips,
Like redolent blossoms
The honey-bee sips.

I long for the vision
To bless me again;
I long for thy music

To thrill me as then :
For sad are the moments

That hold me away

From the love-waking glances

Thine eyelids outplay.

Each look is all holy,

So filled with thy soul,
Each word thou hast spoken,
Its echoes shall roll

Till Time's leaden pinions

Shall bear me to thee,
Thou angel of beauty!

Thou seraph of glee!

If thoughts were but creatures,
And wishes were things,
Then swift would I hasten,
On rapidest wings,
To drink of the love-tide

That flows from thine eyes,
And revel in rapture
Around thee that lies.

11

TO ELLA-THREE MONTHS OLD.

COME hither, little daughter,

And sit upon my knee,

For I would gaze into thine eyes
As thou dost gaze on me,
And strive to read the mysteries
That in their glances dwell, -
For running o'er with happiness,
Of spirit-land they tell.

I love thee, little innocent,
An infant as thou art,
For thou alone, of all the world,
Art of my soul a part:
The life-blood in thy tiny form

From my heart's current flows,
And thine, that beats so soft and warm,
Is echoing back its throes.

Thy lips, like rose-leaves bursting out,

Thy lily-dimpled cheek,-
Oh how I long to hear from thence

Thy first essay to speak!

And then upon the floor to hear

Thy gently echoing feet,

When love may bring thy father near

His darling child to meet.

There is no blessing on the earth
That can with this compare,
To love a little innocent

That doth one's image bear!
And yet it is a fearful thing
To guide a sinless child, -
Oh! some good angel lend thy wing
To guard it undefiled!

God keep thee, gentle being,

And save thy soul from sin,
That so at length to holy rest
Thy feet may enter in':
His blessing be thy steps around,
Thou child of love first given,
Or joy or woe, whate'er abound,
Seek thou thy home in heaven!

A STRANGER'S TALE.

A dismal sound came dread and hollow
When earth upon her coffin fell,
That told the listener he must follow

Death's sable flag his ranks to swell,
It came as waves come, hoarsely beating
The rapid march of Time's swift feet,
It told as they tell, Life is fleeting

As winds that wail when tempests meet.

-

THERE is an indescribably pleasant melancholy attendant on the bright sunny morning of a Sabbath in summer, to an individual who is among strangers. A solemn stillness pervades everything; even the lovely works of nature seem to put on a sacred aspect. The feathered songsters breathe forth their melody in subdued strains, and the distant waterfall, now swelling to a deep bass undertone, and now diminishing till the listening ear scarcely perceives its sound, as the breeze increases and dies away, breaks the silence, only to make the intervening pause the more deep, the more impressive. Perhaps this is all imagination; but at any rate, it is a feeling which has, again and again, touched the finer sensibilities of the soul, and mellowed