And fell into the most insane heroics,

And raved till altogether out of breath;

Then took a little walk to make my mind up,
On some fit means my short career to wind up.

Philosophy, however, is the only

Balm for the evils of this changing life;
It soothes alike the married and the lonely,
Healing the ill of maiden or of wife;

Husbands and youthful bachelors may find, too,
A solace in it when they have a mind to.

And so I called it one more bubble broken,
Another vision faded quite away,
Another trusted promise falsely spoken,
Another star gone out, another ray
Of the proud sun extinguished, and so on
Till all my words and similes were gone.

I left my lodgings in the morning stage,

And spent a few weeks in a southern city;

My mind returned to me before an age,

And some few faces once again seemed pretty;

I found some cheeks as delicate as roses,

Some cherry lips, bright eyes, and well cut noses.

And when again the city of my birth
Was gladdened with my presence, then again
The skies were blue and starry, and the earth
Covered with snow and frost work; but the reign

PHILOSOPHY.

Of love unchangeable and burning passion,
Was soon forgotten in the rounds of fashion.

I often see her in the bright saloon,

And sometimes turn her in the gay cotillion;
But all in vain, for she must marry soon,
With her old, ugly, crabbed, half a million;
We meet like strangers silent and unmoved,
Without a glance to tell that we have loved.

161

Mary! my love was centred all in thee,
With thought of thee my every hope was blended;
But, as the shadow flits along the sea,
My dream has vanished, and my vision ended;
And when thy lover leads thee to the altar,

My cheek shall never blanch, nor my voice falter.

I hope that heaven may crown thy life with joys,
I hope, sincerely, as a friend or brother,
That many curly-headed girls and boys
May in due time appear to call thee mother;
I hope, besides, that all of them may be
More true in faith, than thou hast been to me.

Farewell! my life may wear a careless smile,
My lips may breathe the very soul of lightness,
But the touched heart must deeply feel the while,
That life has lost a portion of its brightness;
And woman's love shall never be a chain,

To bind me to its nothingness again!

162

A HEALTH

A HEALTH.

BY EDWARD C. PINKNEY.

I FILL this cup to one made up of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex the seeming paragon; To whom the better elements and kindly stars have

given

A form so fair, that, like the air, 't is less of earth than heaven.

Her every tone is music's own, like those of morning birds,

And something more than melody dwells ever in her words;

The coinage of her heart are they, and from her lips each flows

As one may see the burdened bee forth issue from the rose.

Affections are as thoughts to her, the measure of her hours;

Her feelings have the fragrance and the freshness of young flowers;

And lonely passions changing oft, so fill her, she

appears

The image of themselves by turns-the idol of past

years.

Of her bright face one glance will trace a picture

on the brain,

And of her voice in echoing hearts a sound must long remain;

But memory such as mine of her so very much endears,

When death is nigh, my latest sigh will not be life's, but hers.

I fill this cup to one made up of loveliness alone,
A woman, of her gentle sex the seeming paragon—
Her health! and would on earth there stood some
more of such a frame,

That life might be all poetry, and weariness a name.

TO A CHILD.

'The memory of thy name, dear one,

Lives in my inmost heart,

Linked with a thousand hopes and fears,

That will not thence depart.'

THINGS of high import sound I in thine ears,
Dear child, though now thou mayest not feel

their power.

But hoard them up, and in thy coming years

Forget them not; and when earth's tempests

lower,

A talisman unto thee shall they be,

To give thy weak arm strength, to make thy dim

eye see.

Seek TRUTH-that pure, celestial Truth, whose birth

Was in the heaven of heavens, clear, sacred

shrined,

In reason's light. Not oft she visits earth;

But her majestic port the willing mind, Through faith, may sometimes see. Give her thy

soul,

Nor faint, though error's surges loudly 'gainst thee roll.

Be FREE-not chiefly from the iron chain,

But from the one which passion forges; be

The master of thyself! If lost, regain

The rule o'er chance, sense, circumstance. Be

free.

Trample thy proud lusts proudly 'neath thy feet, And stand erect, as for a heaven-born one is meet.

Seek VIRTUE. Wear her armor to the fight;

Then, as a wrestler gathers strength from strife, Shalt thou be nerved to a more vigorous might By each contending, turbulent ill of life. Seek Virtue; she alone is all divine;

And, having found, be strong in God's own strength and thine.