LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 249 For Friendship a soft couch I made, and e'er he sunk to rest, The urchin his companion thus his thanks to me expressed: "Dear ma'am," lisped he, in accents so winning, soft, and sweet, "If not saved by your kindness, I had perished at your feet; I pray accept my thanks, ma'am, for ne'er was bounty cast On heart that more could feel it—or where 't will longer last." I stroked his flaxen ringlets, and kissed his snowy brow, "You are welcome, pretty child," I said, no thanks to me you owe," 66 Then first, I saw the urchin had a quiver by his side: And with good store of arrows, too, that quiver was supplied. I started at so strange a sight, and begged their use to [this is my bow, 66 know They are arrows, ma'am," he archly said, "and thisI hid it 'neath my cloak, ma'am, lest it some harm should get, And much I fear my bow is spoiled, for see, the string is wet. "But if to all your kindness, ma'am, you'd add one favor more, I'd beg to try just if my bow is good as 't was before;" 250 LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. And ere I could reply to him, he pulled and sped the dart, "You've hit me, little wretch," I cried, "I feel it through my heart." Compose yourself, dear ma'am," said he, "I'll hie me to my rest;" "And I," I said, "will pour my woes into kind Friendship's breast:" Then quick to Friendship's couch I flew to tell him my despair, But ah! I found that he had fled, and Love alone was there. SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. BY Ꭱ. DAWES. THE Spirit of Beauty unfurls her light, By the blossoms that cluster and whiten there; At morn, I know where she rested at night, At noon she hies to a cool retreat, Where bowering elms over waters meet, She dimples the wave where the green leaves dip, 252 SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. At eve she hangs o'er the western sky And round the skirts of their deepened fold, She hovers around us at twilight hour, When her presence is felt with the deepest power, Then wheeling her flight through the gladdened air, THE WIFE. BY A. P. DINNIE S. "She flung her white arms around him-Thou art all That this poor heart can cling to." I COULD have stemmed misfortune's tide, I could have smiled on every blow I could-I think I could have brooked, Upon my fading face hadst looked With less of love than now; The sweet hope still my own, To win thee back, and, whilst I dwelt |