I'll pay my vows at beauty's shrine,
Where sparkling black eyes gleam;
And if propitious hope be mine,
I'll revel in love's dream.

But if she frown, my pretty belle,

And all my vows disdain,

I'll, smiling, take my last farewell,-
And-try my luck again!

And when death sets his seal on me,
And moors my shattered bark,
And fate is struggling to set free
Life's faintly lingering spark-
Oh not one tear shall dim my eye,
That life is on the wane,

That I must bid the world "Good-by!"
Nor-try my luck again!

NEW ENGLAND.

BY S. G. BULFINCH.

HOME of the good, the brave, the wise,
Bold youth and beauty bright,
The sun, as on his course he hies,

Beholds no lovelier sight.

Italia's vales with perfume glow
From every flowery tree,

But ne'er those lovely valleys know
The breath of Liberty.

Bright beams the sun on Syria's plains,
Where ancient prophets trod,
And held, in Nature's forest fanes,
High converse with their God.
But holier are the hills that bind
Thy stormy ocean shore,

For there the sacred human mind

Knows its own strength once more.

There, in the cottage and the hall,
As bursts the morning ray,
The hymn of praise ascends from all
To him who gives the day.
There, as the evening sun declines,
They join in harmless glee;
On all the beam of pleasure shines,
For all alike are free.

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
"Till her sweet breast was stung:

The plighted one forgot his vow-
She said it gave no pain-

But a sadness settled on her brow-
She never smiled again!

She spoke not of the cruel one,
And sought the merry throng;
But changed was her once silver tone,
And mournful her low song.

She glittered next with jewels bright,
And danced to merry strain;

But the stricken one knew no delight-
She never smiled again.

She strayed along the sedgy brook,
And marked the blue-bird's song-
But neither flower, bird, nor brook,
Could cheat her mem❜ry long.
Her thoughts flew back to moments past,
And then she sighed in vain;

Her drooping heart was broke at last-
She never smiled again!

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-
For bright is the stream,
With the light of the stars,
And the moon's merry beam;
With the splash of our oars,
Good tune we will measure,
To the dance of our spirits,
In this hour of pleasure.