The thoughts of thy heart are recorded by me;

There are some which, half-breathed, half-acknowledged by

thee,

Steal sweetly and silently o'er thy pure breast,

Just ruffling its calmness, then murm'ring to rest.

Like a breeze o'er the lake, when it breathlessly lies,
With its own mimic mountains, and star-spangled skies;
I stretch my light pinions around thee when sleeping,
To guard thee from spirits of sorrow and weeping.

I breathe o'er thy slumbers sweet dreams of delight,
Till you wake but to sigh for the visions of night;
Then remember, wherever your pathway may lie,
Be it clouded with sorrow, or brilliant with joy ;

My spirit shall watch thee, wherever thou art,
My incense shall rise from the throne of thy heart.
Farewell! for the shadows of evening are fled,

And the young rays of morning are wreathed round my head.

WHAT IS SOLITUDE?

BY C. F. HOFFMAN.

Not in the shadowy wood,

Not in the crag-hung glen,

Not where the sleeping echoes brood
In caves untrod by men ;

Not by the sea-swept shore
Where loitering surges break,

Not on the mountain hoar,

Not by the breezeless lake,

Not in the desert plain

Where man hath never stood,

Whether on isle or main

Not there is Solitude!

There are birds in the woodland bowers,

Voices in lonely dells,

And streams that talk to the listening hours

In earth's most secret cells.

There is life on the foam-flecked sand

By ocean's curling lip,

And life on the still lake's strand

'Mid flowers that o'er it dip; There is life in the tossing pines That plume the mountain crest,

And life in the courser's mane that shines As he scours the desert's breast.

But go to the crowded mart,

'Mid the sordid haunts of men,

Go there and ask thy heart,

What answer makes it then?
Go where the wine-cup's gleaming,
In hall or festal grot;

Where love-lit eyes are beaming,

But Love himself is not!

Go-if thou wouldst be lonely

Where the phantom Pleasure's wooed,

And own that there-there only

'Mid crowds is Solitude.

THE BRAVE.

BY J. G. BROOKS.

WHERE have the valiant sunk to rest,

When their sands of life were numbered? On the downy couch? on the gentle breast Where their youthful visions slumbered?

When the mighty passed the gate of death,
Did love stand by bewailing?

No! but upon war's fiery breath

Their blood-dyed flag was sailing!

Not on the silent feverish bed,

With weeping friends around them, Were the parting prayers of the valiant said, When death's dark angel found them.

But in the stern and stormy strife,

In the flush of lofty feeling,
They yielded to honour the boon of life,
Where battle's bolts were pealing;

When the hot war-steed, with crimsoned mane
Trampled on breasts all stained and gory,
Dashed his red hoof on the reeking plain,
And shared in the rider's glory.

Or seek the brave in their ocean grave,
'Neath the dark and restless water;
Seek them beneath the whelming wave,
So oft deep dyed with slaughter.

There sleep the gallant and the proud,
The eagle-eyed and the lion-hearted;
For whom the trump of fame rang loud,
When the body and soul were parted.

Or seek them on fields where the grass grows deep,
Where the vulture and the raven hover;

There the sons of battle in quiet sleep:
. And widowed love goes there to weep,
That their bright career is over.

MORNING.

BY LUCRETIA M. DAVIDSON.

I COME in the breath of the wakened breeze,

I kiss the flowers, and I bend the trees;

And I shake the dew, which hath fallen by night,
From its throne, on the lily's pure bosom of white.
Awake thee, when bright from my couch in the sky,
I beam o'er the mountains, and come from on high;
When my gay purple banners are waving afar;
When my herald, gray dawn, hath extinguished each star ;
When I smile on the woodlands, and bend o'er the lake,
Then awake thee, O maiden, I bid thee awake!

Thou may'st slumber when all the wide arches of Heaven
Glitter bright with the beautiful fires of even;
When the moon walks in glory, and looks from on high,
O'er the clouds floating far through the clear azure sky,

Drifting on like the beautiful vessels of Heaven,
To their far away harbour, all silently driven,
Bearing on, in their bosoms, the children of light,

Who have fled from this dark world of sorrow and night;
When the lake lies in calmness and darkness, save where
The bright ripple curls, 'neath the smile of a star
When all is in silence and solitude here,

r;

Then sleep, maiden, sleep! without sorrow or fear!
But when I steal silently over the lake,

Awake thee then, maiden, awake! Oh, awake!

LAKE GEORGE.

BY MRS. E. F. ELLET.

NoT in the bannered castle

Beside the gilded throne,

On fields where knightly ranks have strode,
In feudal halls-alone

The Spirit of the stately mien,

Whose presence flings a spell,

Fadeless on all around her,

In empire loves to dwell.

Gray piles and moss-grown cloisters,
Call up the shadows vast
That linger in their dim domain,
Dreams of the visioned past!
As sweep the gorgeous pageants by
We watch the pictured train,
And sigh that aught so glorious

Should be so brief and vain.