I'll pay my vows at beauty's shrine, But if she frown, my pretty belle, And all my vows disdain, I'll, smiling, take my last farewell,- And when death sets his seal on me, That I must bid the world "Good-by!" NEW ENGLAND. BY S. G. BULFINCH. HOME of the good, the brave, the wise, Beholds no lovelier sight. Italia's vales with perfume glow But ne'er those lovely valleys know Bright beams the sun on Syria's plains, For there the sacred human mind Knows its own strength once more. There, in the cottage and the hall, SHE NEVER SMILED AGAIN. BY J. JONES. O, SHE was gay in youth's bright morn, And beautiful when young, And midst life's roses knew no thorn The plighted one forgot his vow- But a sadness settled on her brow- She spoke not of the cruel one, She glittered next with jewels bright, But the stricken one knew no delight- She strayed along the sedgy brook, Her drooping heart was broke at last- THE OLD MAN'S LAMENT. BY RICHARD PENN SMITH. My boyhood, my boyhood! has long since past away, And like the flowers of spring its hours have faded in decay, And time, with all his promises, hath yielded scarce a joy That can repay those swept away from me while yet a boy. The world lay fresh before me, and like a summer bird, On eager wing I rose to sing where melody was heard. The heavens were calm, the air was balm, the earth was gemmed with flowers; And shouts of joy without alloy brought on the winged hours. But now I mourn my infancy as I my babes deplore, Who like bright visions flitted by, and then were seen no more. But when as they I past away, O! not a tear was shed, Although my boyhood is a thing now numbered with the dead. All radiant in their innocence, my babes again shall live; But the bright boy that time destroyed, no power can bid revive. And of the beings manifold that breathed and moved in me, An old man broken down with care, is all that God will see. My boyhood-my manhood! have vanished like the wind, Or eager birds that clip the air, and leave no trace be hind. They lived-they died-both suicide, and are forever gone. Or at the judgment I appear a myriad in one. THE HOUSATONICK RIVER BOAT-SONG. BY MISS SEDGWICK. GAILY row the boat-row- |