OH, WERE IT NOT FOR THIS SAD VOICE.

Oн, were it not for this sad voice,

Stealing amid our mirth to say,
That all, in which we most rejoice,

Ere night may be the earth-worm's prey;

But for this bitter-only this

Full as the world is brimm'd with bliss,
And capable as feels my soul

Of draining to its depth the whole,

I should turn earth to heaven, and be,

If bliss made gods, a deity!

DRINK OF THIS CUP.

"DRINK of this cup-Osiris1 sips
The same in his halls below;

And the same he gives to cool the lips,
Of the Dead 2 who downward go.

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1 Osiris, under the name of Serapis, was supposed to rule over the subterranean world; and performed the office of Pluto, in the mythology of the Egyptians. They believed," says Dr. Prichard, "that Serapis presided over the region of departed souls, during the period of their absence, when languishing without bodies, and that the dead were deposited in his palace.” — Analysis of the Egyptian Mythology.

2 66 Frigidam illam aquam post mortem, tanquam Hebes poculum, expetitam." Zoega. - The Lethe of the Egyptians was called Ameles. See Dupuis, tom. viii. p. 651.

'Twill make the past, with all its sin,
And all its pain and sorrows, seem
Like a long-forgotten dream!

"The pleasure, whose charms

Are steep'd in woe;
The knowledge that harms.

The soul to know;

"The hope, that, bright

As the lake of the waste,

Allures the sight,

But mocks the taste;

"The love, that binds
Its innocent wreath,
Where the serpent winds,
In venom beneath ;-

"All that, of evil or false, by thee
Hath ever been known or seen,
Shall melt away in this cup, and be
Forgot, as it never had been!"

DRINK OF THIS CUP.

"DRINK of this cup-when Isis led
Her boy, of old, to the beaming sky,
She mingled a draught divine1, and said-
'Drink of this cup, thou'lt never die!'

' The της αθανασιας φαρμακον, which, according to Diodorus Siculus, Isis prepared for her son Orus. — Lib. i.

"Thus do I say and sing to thee,

Heir of that boundless heaven on high,
Though frail, and fall'n, and lost thou be,
Drink of this cup, thou'lt never die!"

OH! ABYSSINIAN TREE.

"OH! Abyssinian tree,

We pray, we pray to thee;

By the glow of thy golden fruit,

And the violet hue of thy flower,
And the greeting mute

Of thy bough's salute

To the stranger who seeks thy bower.1

"Oh! Abyssinian tree,

How the traveller blesses thee,
When the night no moon allows,

And the sunset hour is near,
And though bendst thy boughs,
To kiss his brows,

Saying, 'Come rest thee here.'

Oh! Abyssinian tree,

Thus bow thy head to me!"

THE VOICE.

It came o'er her sleep, like a voice of those days,
When love, only love, was the light of her ways;

See an account of this sensitive tree, which bends down its branches to those who approach it, in M. Jomard's Description of Syene and the Cataracts.

And, soft as in moments of bliss long ago,

It whisper'd her name from the garden below.

"Alas," sigh'd the maiden, "how fancy can cheat! "The world once had lips that could whisper thus sweet; "But cold now they slumber in yon fatal deep,

"Where, oh that beside them this heart too could sleep!”

She sunk on her pillow-but no, 'twas in vain
To chase the illusion, that Voice came again!
She flew to the easement-but, hush'd as the grave,
In moonlight lay slumbering woodland and wave.

"Oh sleep, come and shield me," in anguish she said, "From that call of the buried, that cry of the Dead!" And sleep came around her-but, starting, she woke, For still from the garden that spirit Voice spoke!

"I come," she exclaim'd: "be thy home where it may, "On earth or in heaven, that call I obey." Then forth through the moonlight, with heart beating fast, And loud as a death-watch, the pale maiden past.

Still round her the scene all in loneliness shone;
And still, in the distance, that Voice led her on;
But whither she wander'd, by wave or by shore,
None ever could tell, for she came back no more.

No, ne'er came she back, but the watchman who stood,
That night in the tow'r which o'ershadows the flood,
Saw dimly, 'tis said, o'er the moon-lighted spray,

A youth on a steed bear the maiden away.

CUPID AND PSYCHE.

THEY told her that he, to whose vow she had listen'd Through night's fleeting hours, was a spirit unblest ;Unholy the eyes, that beside her had glisten'd,

And evil the lips she in darkness had prest.

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"When next in thy chamber the bridegroom reclineth, Bring near him thy lamp, when in slumber he lies; “And there, as the light o'er his dark features shineth, "Thou'lt see what a demon hath won all thy sighs!"

Too fond to believe them, yet doubting, yet fearing, When calm lay the sleeper she stole with her light; And saw - such a vision ! -no image, appearing

-

To bards in their day-dreams, was ever so bright.

A youth, but just passing from childhood's sweet morning, While round him still linger'd its innocent ray;

Though gleams from beneath his shut eyelids gave warning

Of summer-noon lightnings that under them lay.

His brow had a grace more than mortal around it,
While, glossy as gold from a fairy-land mine,
His sunny hair hung, and the flowers that crown'd it
Seem'd fresh from the breeze of some garden divine.

Entranc'd stood the bride, on that miracle gazing,
What late was but love is idolatry now;
But, ah-in her tremor the fatal lamp raising-
A sparkle flew from it and dropp'd on his brow.