By day its voice is low and light;
But in the silent dead of night,
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall,
It echoes along the vacant hall,
Along the ceiling, along the floor,
And seems to say at each chamber door,
"Forever- never!

Through days of sorrow and of mirth,
Through days of death and days of birth,
Through every swift vicissitude

Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood,
And as if, like God, it all things saw,
It calmly repeats those words of awe,
"Forever- never!

Never-forever!"

In that mansion used to be
Free-hearted Hospitality:

His great fires up the chimney roared;
The stranger feasted at his board;
But like the skeleton at the feast,

That warning timepiece never ceased-
"Forever never!

There groups of merry children played,
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed;
Oh, precious hours! oh, golden prime,

And affluence of love and time!
Even as a miser counts his gold,
Those hours the ancient timepiece told-
"Forever - never!

Never forever!"

From that chamber, clothed in white,
The bride came forth on her wedding night;

There, in that silent room below,

The dead lay in his shroud of snow;

And in the hush that followed the prayer, Was heard the old clock on the stair

"Forever-never!

Never forever!"

All are scattered now and fled, Some are married, some are dead; And when I ask, with throbs of pain, "Ah! when shall they all meet again?" As in the days long since gone by, The ancient timepiece makes reply, "Forever-never!

STAY

She is not mad who kneels to thee;
For what I'm now, too well I know,
And what I was, and what should be.
I'll rave no more in proud despair;
My language shall be mild, though sad:
But yet I'll firmly, truly swear,

I am not mad; I am not mad.

My tyrant husband forged the tale
Which chains me in this dismal cell;
My fate unknown my friends bewail;
Oh, jailer, haste that fate to tell!

Oh! haste my father's heart to cheer:
His heart at once 't will grieve and glad
To know, though kept a captive here,
I am not mad; I am not mad.

He smiles in scorn, and turns the key;
He quits the grate; I knelt in vain;
His glimmering lamp, still, still I see;
'Tis gone, and all is gloom again.
Cold! bitter cold! no warmth no light!
Life, all thy comforts once I had;
Yet here I'm chained, this freezing night,
Although not mad; no, no, not mad.

'Tis sure some dream, some vision vain;
What! I the child of rank and wealth?
Am I the wretch who clanks this chain,
Bereft of freedom, friends, and health?
Ah! while I dwell on blessings fled,

Which never more my heart must glad,
How aches my heart, how burns my head!
But 't is not mad; no, 't is not mad.

Hast thou, my child, forgot, ere this,
A mother's face, a mother's tongue?
She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss,

Nor round her neck how fast you clung;
Nor how with me you sued to stay;

Nor how that suit your sire forbade;

Nor how I'll drive such thoughts away; They'll make me mad; they'll make me mad.

His rosy lips, how sweet they smiled!

His mild, blue eyes, how bright they shone!

None ever bore a lovelier child:

And art thou now forever gone?
And must I never see thee more,
My pretty, pretty, pretty lad?
I will be free! unbar the door!
I am not mad; I am not mad.

Oh, hark! what mean those yells and cries?
His chain some furious madman breaks;
He comes; I see his glaring eyes;

Now, now my dungeon grate he shakes.
Help! help! He's gone! Oh, fearful woe,
Such screams to hear, such sights to see!
My brain, my brain-I know, I know

I am not mad, but soon shall be.

Yes, soon; for, lo you! - while I speak-
Mark how yon demon's eyeballs glare!
He sees me; now, with dreadful shriek,
He whirls a serpent high in air.
Horror! the reptile strikes his tooth
Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad;
Ay, laugh, ye fiends; - I feel the truth;
Your task is done! - I'm mad! I'm mad!

ΚΙ

THE GLOVE AND THE LION.

ING FRANCIS was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport, And one day as his lions fought, sat looking on the court; The nobles filled the benches round, the ladies by their side,

And 'mong them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he

sighed:

And truly 't was a gallant thing to see that crowning show,
Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below.

Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws;
They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with

their paws;

With wallowing might and stifled roar, they rolled on one another; Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thunderous smother; The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through the air: Said Francis, then, "Faith, gentlemen, we're better here than

there."

De Lorge's love o'erheard the king, a beauteous, lively dame, With smiling lips, and sharp, bright eyes, which always seemed the same;

She thought, "The Count, my lover, is brave as brave can be; He surely would do wondrous things to show his love for me: King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine;

I'll drop my glove, to prove his love; great glory will be mine."

She dropped her glove, to prove his love, then looked at him and smiled;

He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild:

The leap was quick, return was quick, he soon regained the place, Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face. "In faith," cried Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat;

"Not love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that."

THE DRUNKARD'S DAUGHTER.

Written by a young lady, who had been accused of being a maniac on the subject of Temperance, because her writings were so full of pathos.

Go, kneel as I have knelt;

Implore, beseech, and pray-
Strive the besotted heart to melt,
The downward course to stay;
Be dashed, with bitter curse, aside;
Your prayers burlesqued, your tears defied.

Go, weep as I have wept,

O'er a loved father's fall

See every promised blessing swept,

Youth's sweetness turned to gall;

Life's fading flowers strewed all the way,

That brought me up to woman's day.