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Love and Joy one April day,
wave; And though he pray'd and wept, Love would
not save, But frowning turn’d away -- he found a
Still the bark is sailing on,
Weeping for the death of Joy,
mast, Recalling all the brightness of the past. But if repentant Love woos the light form
He spreads his rainbow wings and flies away.
IN SWEET REMEMBRANCE OF
I never gaze upon the silent sky,
When floats the moon amid its azure blue, But memory ever pictures one bright eye, That gladly watched with me its wand'rings
too And thoughts of other blissful days arise, Which my fond heart could wish again
to be; But e'en amid that loneliness, my sighs
Are breath'd in sweet remembrance of Thee!
The sun ne'er shines upon the smiling earth,
And wakens into life its dreaming flowers, But I think of Thee who taught me all the
worth Of those pure emblems of Youth's sunny
hours; And as I gaze upon their beauties fair,
Each flowret tells a tale of love to me, And my lone spirit seems enchanted there,
And lives in sweet remembrance of Thee!
My fav'rite Lute hath lost its joyous tone,
That ever breathed of joyousness before ; The angel-music of its soul is gone, And like its Master's heart, can joy no
more. But there is a sadness 'mid its softest chords
More sweetly beautiful than joy to me,“ More truly eloquent than blandest words
Which sighs in sweet remembrance of Thee!
Then how can I forget ?— When every thing
That speaks of loveliness in earth or heav'n, To one bright object all my thoughts doth
bring, The loving which, nought else so dear is
giv'n;When the pale moon, and sun, and summer
sky, And flowers that glow beneath their
witchery, — When Lute and echoing song, in every sigh,
All breathe in sweet remembrance of Thee!
SHE IS BRIGHT AND YOUNG.
She is bright and young, and her glory
Of an ancient ancestry,
On the light of her full dark eye.
She is gentle and still, and her voice is as low
As the voice of a summer wind,
One stain on her girlish mind.
I felt the wild dream creep over like sleep,
More strangely each day I stayed, And in four short weeks my heart was
In the heart of that highborn maid.
O the stir of love and its beating thrills !
I never had known its power; So I shut my eyes and went down the
stream, And might have been there to this hour:
But she sung light songs at a solemn time,
And the spell was gone for ever, And who shall say 'twas a trivial thing
That delicate chain to sever?
F. W. FABER, M.A.
LOVE AND DEATH.
What time the mighty moon was gathering
light Love paced the thymy plots of paradise, And all about him rolled his lustrous eyes; When turning round a casia, full in view, Death, walking all alone beneath a yew, And talking to himself, first met his sight: “ You must begone,” said death, “these
walks are mine." Love wept, and spread his sheeny vans for