English

BY MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY .

Shell of the bright sea-waves!
What is it that we hear in thy sad moan?
Is this unceasing music all thine own,
Lute of the ocean caves!

Or, does some spirit dwell
In the deep windings of thy chamber dim,
Breathing forever, in its mournful hymn,
Of ocean's anthem swell?

Wert thou a murmurer long
In chrystal palaces beneath the seas,
Ere, on the bright air, thou hadst heard the breeze
Pour its full tide of song?

BY OTWAY CURRY .

Not in the golden morning
Shall faded forms return,
For languidly and dimly then
The lights of memory burn:

Nor when the noon unfoldeth
Its sunny light and smile,
For these unto their bright repose
The wondering spirit wile:

But when the stars are wending
Their radiant way on high,
And gentle winds are whispering back

Ye champions! who maintain
God's everlasting law,
Call on his name again,
And tow'rds his presence draw;
And soon your steady march your foes shall overawe.

Why should you faint or fear?
He shall preserve ye still;
Life, love — all — all that's dear
Yield to his holy will,
And he shall steel your hearts, and strengthen you 'gainst ill.

F ROM Christ, a hundred fold
Of bliss ye shall receive;
For time — that soon is told —
Eternity he'll give;

BY LEWIS F. THOMAS .

Fair lady, in those sunny climes
That lie beneath the castern skies,
Love's language is not writ in rhymes,
But beams in looks and breathes in sighs;
And when foud maidens would impart
To one away, love's magic power,
They send the wishes of the heart
Interpreted by leaf or flower.
I marked last night thy sigh — thy look —

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Love calls me from my deeds of fame
To his own sweeter service — I
Summon each cherish'd maiden's name,
And ask — to which my soul should fly,
And seek with her a brighter glory
Than ever fill'd the page of story.

But ill my service is repaid,
For Love has planted in my breast
A pang that will not give me rest —
Nor heeds the mischief he has made.

M Y senses are by passion driven,
On to the very gates of heaven;
Delight is handmaid to desire,

" Rejoice, we conquer! " So from Marathon word
Came, by the fleetest of foot, to the gates of Greece.
And the hills of Athens, the marble mother, were stirred,
And the echo thereof to the life in her womb cried " Peace! "

A bubble of wine from those lips, and a city was drunk
With the sudden joy of a birth when its throes are past:
Europe is saved from the flood, and Asia shrunk
Back to her borders for ever while Greece shall last!

While Greece shall last! — while joy for the strength of a steed

O thou rose — thou rose so lovely,
Why so early didst thou blow?
Why when blown, so swiftly blighted,
Swiftly blighted — swiftly faded,
Faded — dying — perish'd too:
Long I sat — I sat at evening
Till I heard the cock's loud crow,
Slumber's weariness o'ercame me
As the splinters wasted low;
And I dreamt: — I dreamt I saw
One who brought to me — poor maiden!
One who with his right hand brought
Golden ring to grace my finger,
Ring with precious gems enwrought —
Where are now those gems? — I know not —

The storm had passed, but not in wrath,
For ruin had not marked its path
O'er that sweet vale, where now was seen
A bluer sky, and brighter green.
There was a milder azure spread
Around the distant mountain's head;
And every hue of that fair bow,
Whose beauteous arch had risen there,
Now sank beneath a brighter glow,
And melted into ambient air.
The tempest, which had just gone by,
Still hung along the eastern sky,
And threatened, as it rolled away.
The birds from every dripping spray,

BY OTWAY CURRY .

Stern ruler of that lurid clime,
 Along whose vast and gloomy deep
The shadowy winds and hues sublime
 Of never-ending tempests sweep:

Before thy sceptre high and stern
 The armies of the fallen wait
In dark array, and proudly spurn
 The fetters of unchanging fate.

In thy dark home of endless gloom,
 Their warrior legions round thee press,
To meliorate thy fearful doom
 With their unfaltering faithfulness.

BY WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER

The day was well nigh o'er;
The sun, near the horizon, dimly shone;
And the long shadows of the trees, before
My grassy couch were thrown.
The scene was one I'd witnessed, many a time,
In the green summer of my boyhood's prime;
And now, in early manhood's ripening day,