In Ipswich town, not far from the sea,
Rises a hill which the people call
Heartbreak Hill, and its history
Is an old, old legend, known to all.

The selfsame dreary, worn-out tale
Told by all peoples in every clime,
Still to be told till the ages fail,
And there comes a pause in the march of Time.

It was a sailor who won the heart
Of an Indian maiden, lithe and young;
And she saw him over the sea depart,
While sweet in her ear his promise rung;

For he cried, as he kissed her wet eyes dry,

O praise ye the Lord! prepare your glad voice,
His praise in the great assembly to sing;
In their great Creator let all men rejoice,
And all, who are ransom'd, be glad in their King.

Let them his great name devoutly adore;
In loud swelling strains his praises express,
Who graciously opens his bountiful store,
Their wants to relieve, the afflicted to bless.

With glory adorn'd, his people shall sing
To God, who defence and freedom supplies:
Their loud acclamations to him, their great King,

Last night I woke and found between us drawn, —
Between us, where no mortal fear may creep, —
The vision of Death dividing us in sleep;
And suddenly I thought, Ere light shall dawn
Some day, — the substance, not the shadow, of Death
Shall cleave us like a sword. The vision passed,
But all its new-born horror held me fast,
And till day broke I listened for your breath.
Some day to wake, and find that coloured skies,
And pipings in the woods, and petals wet,
Are things for aching memory to forget;

Is this Spring upon the scene?
Has the earth grown young again?
Sunlit hills are clothed with green,
Loosened is the ice-bound chain.
Mirrored in the azure rill,
Smile serene and cloudless skies;
Zephyr's breath has lost its chill,
Dainty flowerets ope their eyes.
Warbling notes the bushes cheer,
Cries the nymph in dulcet key;
All the blossoms reappear,
But thy daughter where is she?

By what long and devious ways
Have I sought her darling trace!
Titan, all thy piercing rays
Have assisted in the chase.

When by the fire we sit with hand in hand,
My spirit seems to watch beside your knee,
Alert and eager at your least command
To do your bidding over earth and sea;
You sigh—and of that dubious message fain,
I scour the world to bring you what you lack,
Till, from some island of the spicy main,
The pressure of your fingers calls me back:
You smile,—and I, who love to be your slave,
Post round the orb at your fantastic will,
Though, while my fancy skims the laughing wave,
My hand lies happy in your hand, and still;

Oh the sweet, sweet lapsing of the tide,
Through the still hours of the golden afternoon!
Oh the warm, red sunshine, far and wide,
Falling soft as in the crowning days of June!

Calls the gray sandpiper from the quiet shore,
Weave the swallows light and music through the air,
Chants the sparrow all his pleasure o'er and o'er,
Sings and smiles the Spring, and sparkles everywhere.

Well I know that death and pain to all are near,
That, save sorrow, naught is certain this world gives;
Yet my heart stirs with the budding of the year,

Precisely. I see it. You all want to say
That a tear is too sad and a laugh is too gay;
You could stand a faint smile, you could manage a sigh,
But you value your ribs, and you don't want to cry.

And why at our feast of the clasping of hands
Need we turn on the stream of our lachrymal glands?
Though we see the white breakers of age on our bow,
Let us take a good pull in the jolly-boat now!

It 's hard if a fellow cannot feel content
When a banquet like this does n't cost him a cent,
When his goblet and plate he may empty at will,

TO BE SUNG IN THE NORTH.

On the slopes of lofty mountains
Where the long-drawn Summers shine,
By the generous radiance quickened,
Nature bears the golden vine.

Her mysterious operations
Are concealed from mortal sight,
Her intention is unfathomed,
And inscrutable her might.

Sparkling like a son of morning,
Flashing like a fiery stream,
From the cask the liquor rushes
Crystal clear, with ruddy gleam.

It rejoices all the senses,
And the timid heart inspires;
Calm and soothing hopes induces,

" Didst ever see a hanging?" " No, not one;
Nor ever wish to see such scandal done.
But once I saw a wretch condemned to die:
A lean-faced, bright-eyed youth; who made me sigh
At the recital of a dream he had.
He was not sane — and yet he was not mad;
Fit subject for a mesmerist he seemed;
For when he slept, he saw; and when he dreamed,
His visions were as palpable to him
As facts to us. My memory is dim
Upon his story, but I'll ne'er forget
The dream he told me, for it haunts me yet,
Impressed upon me by his earnest faith

Elements four
Bound in one thrall,
Counterfeit life,
Constitute all.

Juice of the lemon —
Squeeze it and pour!
Sharpness of life
Is the real core.

Now let the sugar,
Mellow and sweet,
Soften the bitter,
Temper its heat.

Now for the water!
Fill up the bowl.
Water well measured
Mixes the whole.

Dashes of spirit
It will require:
Nothing like spirit
Life to inspire!

Ere it evaporates
Quaff it in haste!
Only when strong
It refreshes the taste.