THE autumn woods are damp with dew,
Rank berries gleam upon the yew,

The blood-red moon, behind the trees,

Sheds lurid lustre o'er the leas-
I cry to thee, Katrina!

O dusky braids of scented hair!
O panting bosom, full and fair!

O cream-hued arms so smooth and round!

I bow my forehead to the ground,

And sigh for thee, Katrina!

I mark the brown bat's wheeling flight,
I watch the cold stars glittering bright,

While from the sea-marge, dank and still,
The plovers flit to moor and hill-
Oh, fly to me, Katrina!

O gentle eyes, like violets pure!
O rose-bud lips, that ope to lure !
O rustling sound of tiny feet!
I hear thy greeting low and sweet-
So nigh to me, Katrina.

COME fill another bumper, lad,
The wine is old and mellow,
The toast I'll give shall not be sad-
Here's "To our friends," old fellow !
For life's too short to fret and pine,
Or brood too much on sorrow;
Our foes we'll drown in generous wine,
And leave them till to-morrow.

This Burgundy has long been hid,
Interred in cob-webbed cloister;
Yet how it sparkles when 'tis bid,

A pearl from rough-cased oyster.

"To friends we've proved," we'll drink again,

To those who never falter;

Our enemies, our griefs, our pain,

We'll trust old Time to alter.

See how our goblets flash and gleam—
Was ever stained glass brighter?

The light that through old wine doth stream
But only beams the lighter.
Then fill another bumper-stay,-
A better toast I'll borrow--
"May enemies we own to-day
Prove honest friends to-morrow!"

K

I FOUND one day on the bouldered beach,
A few feet out of the salt spray's reach,
A curious, water-worn stone;

Worn by the throb of the restless sea,
A common pebble it seemed to me,

Cast up where the wild waves moan.

I gathered it idly-dashed it down-
When beneath its crust so rugged and brown,
Something strange attracted my sight;
I seemed to gaze on a beautiful flower,
Freshly culled from a mermaiden's bower,
To fill me with joy and delight.