TO THE MOON.

'Tis a lovely eve, and the Lady Moon
Is out in her lake of blue,

With its little isles of light and gloom,
Where the stars are wandering through.

And she sheds her smile like a veil of dreams, Athwart the earth and sky;

With its mazy deeps and its golden gleams, And its streaks of nameless dye.

Away she sails 'mong the amber isles,
In her lovely lake of blue;
And the glorious golden-tinted piles,

Are slowly heaving through.

And the foam-bells follow, pure and bright,
In her ethereal track,

As she sails away 'mong the hills of light,
While the stars are trembling back.

She follows on, by a glory led,

With a heavenly calm impressed ;

For she bears the souls of the happy dead, To the Islands of the Blest.

WHAT POOR LITTLE FELLOWS ARE WE!

What

poor

little fellows are we!

Tho' we manage to make a great show:
Oh! Death has a claim on us all,

And the king and the beggar must go.
How vain the distinctions we make !
Neither wisdom nor wealth can us save ;

And the prince and the peasant alike
Are journeying on to the grave!

Then why should we listen to aught
Which pride or which vanity saith?
We're all on the current of time,

And bound for the narrows of death.
The shafts of misfortune and fate,

Know neither the high nor the low;
We're brothers to sorrow alike—

And the king and the beggar must go.

LIFE'S ENIGMA.

An infinite dome,

O'er a world of wonder;

An eye looking down

On the poor dreamer under.

An ocean of wrecks,

And beyond it our home;

Each wave as it breaks

Leaves us whiter with foam.

A marriage to-day

And a funeral to-morrow;

A short smile of joy

And a long sigh of sorrow.

A birth and a death,

With a flutter between;

All fleeting as breath

Tell me, what does it mean?

WHERE'ER WE MAY WANDER.

Where'er we may wander,

What'er be our lot,

The heart's first affections,

Still cling to the spot,
Where first a fond mother,
With rapture has prest,
Or sung us to slumber,
In peace on her breast.

Where love first allured us,
And fondly we hung,

On the magical music,

Which fell from her tongue,

Tho' wise ones may tell us,

'Twas foolish and vain,

Yet when shall we drink of

Such glory again.