The shepherdess within a sunny grove,
In the black wood, a shepherd — watch'd their sheep,
" O come to me, sweet love!
Come hither! thou shalt keep
Joy in my bosom treasur'd deep. "

BY JAMES H. PERKINS .

Oh! merry, merry be the day,
 And bright the star of even—
For 't is our duty to be gay,
And tread in holy joy our way;
 Grief never came from Heaven,
My love—
 It never came from Heaven.

Then let us not, though woes betide,
 Complain of Fortune's spite, love;
As rock-encircled trees combine,
And nearer grow, and closer twine,
 So let our hearts unite,
My love—
 So let our hearts unite.

And though the circle here be small

Oh, Love is full of high disdains,
And Passion sharp with bitter pains:
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Love is a rose that holds a bee,
Which stings and dies; but what care we?
The rose remains!

I

When I was young, and wanton, wide-eyed Life
Teased me from sleeping, Love himself did come
Me to console and learn to dream awake.
With heavenly toys my pillow he bestrewed,
Gifts of Dame Venus in his babyhood —
The little mirror that had held her face;
A golden shoe that Pegasus had cast,
One of her dove's bright plumes, an irised edge
Broke from the shell she lay in at her birth:
A rose kissed open by immortal lips.
All night I with the pretty baubles played,
Then asked his name, not knowing him who he was.

Zwelikych dobrodruzstwj

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,

The little birds in copse and hatch
Were singing as their throats would break;
The little nestlings in the thatch
Were crying hungrily awake;
The little bantam on the green,
With sunlight ruddy in his comb,
Went strutting eager to be seen:
And thou, my love, wast coming home!

The beauteous warbling of the birds,
The simple things they had to say,
The callow beaks, so full of words,
Did make a music of the day:
That bit o' sunbeam bright as blood,
So like a feather in the comb,
Through all creation seemed to flood,

The angry winds not aye
Do cuff the roaring deep,
And though heavens often weep,
Yet do they smile for joy when comes dismay:
Frosts do not ever kill the pleasant flow'rs,
And love hath sweets when gone are all the soures.
This said a shepheard, closing in his armes
His deare, who blusht to feele love's new alarmes.

BY MRS. ANNE P. DINNIES .

Come, rouse thee, dearest! — 't is not well
To let the spirit brood
Thus darkly o'er the cares that swell
Life's current to a flood.
As brooks, and torrents, rivers, all,
Increase the gulf in which they fall,
Such thoughts, by gathering up the rills
Of lesser griefs, spread real ills;
And, with their gloomy shades, conceal
The land-marks Hope would else reveal.

Come, rouse thee, now — I know thy mind,

I.

Strephone, in vaine thou bring thy rimes and songs,
Deckt with grave Pindar's old and withered flow'rs;
In vaine thou count'st the faire Europa's wrongs,
And her whom Jove deceiv'd in golden show'rs.
Thou hast slept never under mirtles' shed,
Or if that passion hath thy soule opprest,
It is but for some Grecian mistris dead.
Of such old sighs thou dost discharge thy brest,
How can true love with fables hold a place?
Thou who with fables dost set forth thy love,
Thy love a pretty fable needs must prove,

Quite weary'd with the business of the Day,
To unfrequented Shades I took my way,
And by a murmuring Stream supinely lay.
Soft thoughts confusedly revell'd in my Breast,
Till by composing Slumbers I was bless'd.
Husht was my Sences as the unhaunted Grove,
And all the Vision of my Soul was Love;
Methoughts I saw a soft Celestial Youth,
Whose Eyes speak Love, and smiles Eternal Truth:
Gay as the Spring in all its vernal Pride,
With Amorous Joy sit panting by my side.
I gaz'd with Wonder at a Form so bright,