A LOVE SONG.

A. P. GRAVES.

Ah! swan of slenderness, dove of tenderness,

Jewel of joys, arise!

The little red lark, like a rosy spark,

Unto his sunburst flies,

But till you are risen, earth is a prison,

Full of my captive sighs.

Then wake, and discover to your fond lover

The morn of your matchless eyes.

The dawn is dark to me; hark, oh! hark to me,

Pulse of my heart, I pray,

And gently gliding out of thy hiding,

Dazzle me with thy day!

And oh! I'll fly to thee, singing, and sigh to thee,

Passion so sweet and gay,

The lark shall listen, and dewdrops glisten,
Laughing on every spray.

THE SOURCE OF HAPPINESS.

C. WILCOX.

Wouldst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief?
Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold?
Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief?
Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold. —-
'Tis when the rose is wrapped in many a fold
Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there

Its life and beauty; not when, all unrolled,
Leaf after leaf, its bosom, rich and fair,

Breathes freely its perfumes throughout the ambient air.

Rouse to some work of high and holy love,

And thou an angel's happiness shalt know,Shalt bless the earth while in the world above; The good begun by thee shall onward flow In many a branching stream, and wider grow; The seed that, in these few and fleeting hours, Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sow, Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers, And yield thee fruits divine in heaven's immortal bowers.

THE MYSTERIOUS MUSIC OF OCEAN.

ONELY and wild it rose,

That strain of solemn music from the sea,
As though the bright air trembled to disclose
An ocean mystery.

Again a low, sweet tone,

Fainting in murmurs on the listening day,
Just bade the excited thought its presence own,
Then died away.

Once more the gush of sound,
Struggling and swelling from the heaving plain,
Thrilled a rich peal triumphantly around,
And fled again.

O boundless deep! we know

Thou hast strange wonders in thy gloom concealed,
Gems, flashing gems, from whose unearthly glow
Sunlight is sealed.

And an eternal spring

Showers her rich colors with unsparing hand,

Where coral trees their graceful branches fling
O'er golden sand.

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THE MYSTERIOUS MUSIC OF OCEAN

But tell, O restless main!

Who are the dwellers in thy world beneath,
That thus the watery realm cannot contain
The joy they breathe?

Emblem of glorious might!

Are thy wild children like thyself arrayed,
Strong in immortal and unchecked delight,
Which cannot fade?

Or to mankind allied,

Toiling with wo, and passion's fiery sting,
Like their own home, where storms or peace preside,
As the winds bring?

Alas for human thought!

How does it flee existence, worn and old,
To win companionship with beings wrought
Of finer mold!

'Tis vain the reckless waves

Join with loud revel the dim ages flown,

But keep each secret of their hidden caves
Dark and unknown.

SPRING.

N. P. WILLIS.

HE Spring is here--the delicate-footed May,
With its slight fingers full of leaves and

And with it comes a thirst to be away,

Wasting in wood-paths its voluptuous hours-
A feeling that is like a sense of wings,
Restless to soar above these perishing things.

We

pass out from the city's feverish hum,
To find refreshment in the silent woods;
And nature, that is beautiful and dumb,

Like a cool sleep upon the pulses broods.
Yet, even there, a restless thought will steal,
To teach the indolent heart it still must feel.

Strange, that the audible stillness of the noon,
The waters tripping with their silver feet,
The turning to the light of leaves in June,
And the light whisper as their edges meet-
Strange that they fill not, with their tranquil tone,
The spirit, walking in their midst alone.

There's no contentment, in a world like this,
Save in forgetting the immortal dream;