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LINES FOR MUSIC.
BY T. S. FAY.
Over forest and meadow the night breeze is stealing,
The blush of the sunset is glowing no more — And the stream which we love, harmless fires revealing,
With ripples of silver, is kissing the shore. I have watched from the beach which your presence en
chanted, In the star-lighted heaven each beautiful gem, And I sighed as I thought, ere the break of the morning,
From the gaze of my eyes you must vanish like them. Then stay where the night-breeze o'er flowers is stealing,
And raise your young voices in music once more; Let them blend with the stream, its soft murmurs reveal
ing, In the ripples of silver which roll to the shore.
But when summer has fled, and yon flowers have faded,
And the fields and the forests are withered and sere
LINES FOR MUSIC.
When the friends now together, by distance are parted,
Leaving nothing but winter and loneliness here; Will you think of the hour, when in friendship united,
I lingered at evening to bid you adieu; When I paused by the stream, with the stars so delighted,
And wished I might linger for ever with you ? Oh, forget not the time when that night-breeze was steal
ing, Though desolate oceans between us may roar, The beach—and the stars — and the waters revealing
Thoughts bright as the ripples which break on the shore. LOOK ALOFT.
BY J. LAWRENCE, JUN.
[The following lines were suggested by an anecdote, said to have been
related by the late Dr. Godman, of the ship-boy who was about to fall from the rigging, and was only saved by the mate's characteristic exclamation, “Look aloft, you lubber.”]
In the tempest of life, when the wave and the gale
If the friend, who embraced in prosperity's glow
Should the visions which hope spreads in light to thine
eye, Like the tints of the rainbow, but brighten to fly, Then turn, and through tears of repentant regret, “ Look aloft” to the sun that is never to set.
Should they who are dearest, the son of thy heart
The wife of thy bosom-in sorrow depart, “ Look aloft,” from the darkness and dust of the tomb, To that soil where “affection is ever in bloom.”
And oh! when death comes in terrors, to cast
TO A HUMMING-BIRD
BY J. R. SUTERMEISTER.
Bird of the Summer bower!
How thy wing fleets through heaven!
Thou seemst to Fancy's eye An animated blossom born in air; Which breathes and bourgeons in the golden sky,
And sheds its odours there.
Thou seemst a rainbow hue
In its eternal flight.
Thou art not born of Earth! Thy home is in the free and pathless air! The wild flower eglantine bloomed on thy birth,
And threw its fragrance there.