Shall earth give back that lavish'd wealth, To cool thy parch'd lip's fever!

The heart is like that cup,

If thou waste the love it bore thee;
And like that jewel gone,

Which the deep will not restore thee;
And like that string of harp or lute,
Whence the sweet sound is scatter'd ;-
Gently, oh! gently touch the chords,
So soon forever shatter'd.

MRS. HEMANS.

Love's Home is Heaven.

Oн love, immortal love! not all in vain The young heart wastes beneath thy weary chain,

Burdened and fainting with the fond excess Of its impassioned, mournful tenderness.

The weary bark, long tossing on the shore, Shall find its haven when the storm is o'er; The wandering bee its hive, the bird its nest, And the lone heart of love in heaven its home

of rest.

MRS. S. H. WHITMAN.

Poetry.

NATURE's all poetry: her outward show,
Soft whispering vales, and smoothly swelling
bills,
[below
Bright birds, and flowers, like foot-prints left
By angel's feet when sent to heal our ills;
The gentlest zephyr, and the bubbling rills,-
These all are parts of that immortal strain,
Which from the birth of Time till now distils

Its music deep and wondrous, and again Binds a lost earth to heaven by an eternal strain.

The soul of poetry is that clear light

Which from the throne of the eternal God Shines forth, unchanged by years, forever bright,

To gild the universe he spread abroad; Which, e'en in spirits clogged with earth's dull clod,

Creates the feeling of the beautiful;

Bears the wrapt soul up where no step has trod, Blunts sorrow's sting, pain's wildest throes

can lull,

And gives to mortal grasp such flowers as anS. WALLACE CONE.

gel's cull.

The Waning Moon.

I'VE watched too late; the morn is near!
One look at God's broad, silent sky!
Oh, hopes and wishes vainly dear,
How in your very strength ye die.

Even while your glow is on the cheek,
And scarce the high pursuit begun,
The heart grows faint, the hand grows weak,
The task of life is left undone.

See, where, upon the horizon's brim,
Lies the still cloud in gloomy bars,
The waning moon, all pale and dim,
Goes up amid the eternal stars.

Late, in a flood of tender light,
She floated through the ethereal blue,
A softer sun, that shone all night,
Upon the gathering beds of dew.

And still thou wanest, pallid moon!

The encroaching shadow grows apace,

Heaven's everlasting watchers soon,
Shall see thee blotted from thy place.

Oh, Night's dethroned and crownless queen!
Well may the sad, expiring ray

Be shed on those whose eyes have seen
Hope's glorious visions fade away.

Since thou for forms that once were bright,
For sages in the mind's eclipse,
For those whose words were spells of might,
But falter now on stammering lips!

In thy decaying beam there lies

Full many a grave on hill and plain, Of those who closed their dying eyes In grief that they had lived in vain.

Another night, and thou among

The spheres of heaven shalt cease to shine, All rayless in the glittering throng

Whose lustre late was quenched in thine.

Yet soon a new and tender light

From out thy darkened orb shall beam, And broaden till it shines all night

On glistening dew and glimmering stream.

BRYANT.

The Maiden's Prayer.

SHE rose from her delicious sleep,
And put away her soft brown hair,
And in a tone as low and deep

As love's first whisper, breathed a prayer.
Her snow-white hands together pressed,
Her blue eyes sheltered in the lid,
The folded linen on her breast,

Just swelling with the charms it hid;
And from her long and flowing dress,
Escaped a bare and snowy foot,
Whose step upon the earth did press,
Like a new snowflake, white and mute;
And then from slumbers soft and warm,
Like a young spirit fresh from heaven,
She bowed that slight and matchless form,
And humbly prayed to be forgiven.
O, God, if souls unsoiled as these,
Need daily mercy from thy throne,
If she upon her bended knees,

Our holiest and purest one;
She with a face so clear and bright,

We deem her some stray child of light;