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In doubts, my judge,—in taste, my guide,In all, my stay and ornament!

He, too, was of our feast that day,

And all were guests of one, whose hand Hath shed a new and deathless ray Around the lyre of this great land ;*

In whose sea-odes,-as in those shells
Where Ocean's voice of majesty
Seems sounding still,--immortal dwells
Old Albion's Spirit of the Sea.

Such was our host; and though, since then, Slight clouds have ris'n twixt him and me, Who would not grasp such hands again, Stretch'd forth again in amity?

Who can, in this short life, afford
To let such mists a moment stay,
When thus one frank, atoning word,
Like sunshine, melts them all away?

Bright was our board that day,—though one Unworthy brother there had place;

As 'mong the horses of the Sun,

One was,

they say, of earthly race.

Yet, next to Genius, is the power
Of feeling where true Genius lies;

* Campbell.

And there was light around that hour Such as, in memory, never dies;

Light which comes o'er me, as I gaze, Thou relic of the Dead, on thee, Like all such dreams of vanish'd days, Brightly, indeed,—but mournfully!

SUMMER SONG.

MRS. HEMANS.

COME away! the sunny hours
Woo thee far to founts and bowers!
O'er the very waters now,

In their play,

Flowers are shedding beauty's glow-
Come away!

Where the lily's tender gleam
Quivers on the glancing stream-
Come away!

All the air is filled with sound,
Soft, and sultry, and profound!
Murmurs through the shadowy grass
Lightly stray;

Faint winds whisper as they pass

Come away;

Where the bee's deep music swells From the trembling fox-glove bellsCome away!

In the skies the sapphire blue
Now hath won its richest hue;
In the woods the breath of song

Night and day

Floats with leafy scent along-
Come away!

Where the boughs with dewy gloom
Darken each thick bed of bloom-
Come away!

In the deep heart of the rose
Now the crimson love-hue glows;
Now the glow-worm's lamp by night
Sheds a ray,

Dreamy, starry, queenly bright—

Come away!

Where the fairy cup-moss lies,
With the wild-wood strawberries,
Come away!

Now each tree by summer crown'd,
Sheds its own rich twilight round,
Glancing there from sun to shade,
Bright wings play;

There the deer its couch hath made-
Come away!

Where the smooth leaves of the lime Glisten in their honey-time

Come away-away!

SPRING.

BARRY CORNWALL.

WHEN the wind blows

In the sweet rose-tree,

And the cow lows

On the fragrant lea, And the stream flows

All bright and free,

'Tis not for thee, 'tis not for me, 'Tis not for any one here I trow: The gentle wind bloweth, The happy cow loweth,

The merry stream floweth,
For all below!

O the Spring! the bountiful Spring!
She shineth and smileth on every thing.

Where come the sheep?

To the rich man's moor.

Where cometh sleep?

To the bed that's poor.

Peasants must weep,

And kings endure;

That is a fate that none can cure;

Yet Spring doth all she can, I trow;
She brings the bright hours,
She weaves the sweet flowers,

She dresseth her bowers,
For all below!

O the Spring, &c.

THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE.

L. E. LANDON.

THERE'S a white stone placed upon yonder tomb, Beneath is a soldier lying,

The death-wound came amid sword and plume, When banner and ball were flying.

Yet now he sleeps, the turf on his breast,
By wet wild flowers surrounded;

The church shadow falls o'er his place of rest,
Where the steps of his childhood bounded.

There were tears that fell from manly eyes,
There was woman's gentle weeping,

And the wailing of age and infant cries,
O'er the grave where he lies sleeping.

He had left his home in his spirit's pride,
With his father's sword and blessing;
He stood with the valiant side by side,
His country's wrongs redressing.

He came again, in the light of his fame,
When the red campaign was over;
One heart that in secret had kept his name
Was claimed by the soldier lover.

But the cloud of strife came upon the sky;
He left his sweet home for battle;

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