THE MIDNIGHT BALL.

BY MISS ELIZABETH BOGART.

She's bid adieu to the midnight ball,

And cast the gems aside,
Which glittered in the lighted hall :

Her tears she cannot hide.
She weeps not that the dance is o'er,

The music and the song ; She weeps not that her steps no more

Are follow'd by the throng:

Her memory seeks one form alone

Within that crowded hall;
Her truant thoughts but dwell on one

At that gay midnight ball.
And thence her tears unbidden flow-

She's bid adieu to him;
The light of love is darkened now-

All other lights are dim.

She throws the worthless wreath away

That decked her shining hair;
She tears apart the bright bouquet

Of flowrets rich and rare.
The leaves scattered at her feet,

She heeds not where they fall;
She sees in them an emblem meet

To mark the midnight ball.

A CARELESS, SIMPLE BIRD.

BY THEODORE S. FAY.

A CARELESS, simple bird, one day

Flutt'ring in Flora's bowers, Fell in a cruel trap, which lay All hid among the flowers,

Forsooth, the pretty, harmless flowers.

The spring was closed; poor, silly soul,

He knew not what to do,
Till, squeezing through a tiny hole,
At length away he flew,

Unhurt-at length away he flew.

And now from every fond regret

And idle anguish free,
He, singing, says, “ You need not set
Another trap for me,

False girl ! another trap for me."

CANZONET.

BY J. B. VANSCHAICK.

When motes, that dancing

In golden wine,
To the eyes' glancing

Speak while they shine-
Then, the draught pouring,

Love's fountain free, Mute, but adoring,

I drink to thee.

When sleep enchaineth,

Sense steals awayDream, o'er mind reigneth

With dark strange swayOne sweet face floateth

Sleep's misty sea, Th' unconscious heart doateth On thee-on thee.

3

THE MAIDEN SAT AT HER BUSY WHEEL.

BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY.

"La rose cueillie et le cour gagné ne plaisent qu'un jour."

The maiden sat at her busy wheel

Her heart was light and free,
And ever in cheerful song broke forth

Her bosom's harmless glee.
Her song was in mockery of love

And oft I heard her say,
“ The gathered rose, and the stolen heart,

Can charm but for a day.”

I looked on the maiden's rosy cheek,

And her lip so full and bright,
And I sighed to think that the traitor Love,

Should conquer a heart so light:
But she thought not of future days of wo,

While she carolled in tones so gay;
“The gathered rose, and the stolen heart,

Can charm but for a day.”

A year passed on, and again I stood

By the humble cottage-door ;
The maid sat at her busy wheel,

But her look was blithe no more:

The big tear stood in her downcast eye,

And with sighs I heard her say, “The gathered rose, and the stolen heart,

Can charm but for a day.”

Oh! well I knew what had dimmed her eye,

And made her cheek so pale ;
The maid had forgotten her early song,

While she listened to love's soft tale.
She had tasted the sweets of his poisoned cup;

It had wasted her life away :
And the stolen heart, like the gathered rose,

Had charmed but for a day.

SONG OF THE HERMIT TROUT.

BY WILLIAM P. HAWES.

Down in the deep

Dark holes I keep,
And there in the noontide I float and sleep.

By the hemlock log,

And the springing bog, And the arching alders, I lie incog.

The angler's fly

Comes dancing by,
But never a moment it cheats my eye;