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CANZONET.

Love and Joy one April day,
Stole a fragile bark, they say ;
But, when once she was afloat,
Quarrel'd which should steer the boat;
Love grew angry, seized his quiver,
And struck poor Joy into the river;
And though his pinions buoy'd him on the

wave; And though he pray'd and wept, Love would

not save, But frowning turn’d away -- he found a

wat'ry grave!

Still the bark is sailing on,
And Love steers her all alone;
Mournful sits the cruel boy,

Weeping for the death of Joy,
Whose phantom sometimes Aits around the

mast, Recalling all the brightness of the past. But if repentant Love woos the light form

to stay,

He spreads his rainbow wings and flies away.

CROPT.

IN SWEET REMEMBRANCE OF

THEE!

ܪ

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!

H. MUNROE.

SHE IS BRIGHT AND YOUNG.

She is bright and young, and her glory

comes

Of an ancient ancestry,
And I love for her beauty's sake to gaze

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,
And falseness and fickleness have not left

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

bound up

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

fight;

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